IBO^I?II]G 


^OB  IxIFE^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Ottft  Kjrts  LiiK  ?j*i  sbutjh 


In  The 


Morning  of  Life. 


m   ^rilnttc. 


DEDICATED    TO 

Jl^ose  wljom   pffie   j^oved. 

1879. 


•  >  »   ' 
)      J     >    ' 


'         J    >  J      J        > 


PRINTED      BY 

VJ.     G.     JOHNSTON      Sl      CO. 

PITTSBURGH.      PA. 


CONTENTS 


</> 


Page. 

In    Memoriam,         -        .         .         .         .        .  .      ]  i 

Launched,           -        .        .        .  oi 

►>t       Outward   Bound,   -        -         -        .        .  -i^ 

Fair    Winds, 45 

esl 

^      Sea    Murmurs,        -------     55 

CM 

§     DuiFTWoon,  ----...  (53 

Becalmed,       -        -        .        .        .        .        .        -81 

o     Anchored, g^ 

o     ,, 

O      Heyumi    the    Tide,         -         -         .         .         .         -    109 

ixS 

S     Flowers   from   the   Wayside.         -        -  11^ 


"*     Flowers   from    Memory, 


449623 


127 


INTRODUCTION. 


Dear  Friends: 

When  one  dear  to  ns  has  passed 
into  the  Bright  Beyond,  we  grope  abont  in  Aain 
search  for  something  yet  to  be  done,  which  shall 
bring  to  our  spirits  a  sense  of  duty  performed. 
But  after  every  doing,  there  comes  back  to  the 
desolated  heart  a  response  which  is  as  the  reverber- 
ation  of    a   soulless   echo. 

Such,  in  so  far  as  they  come  from  my  own 
pen,  seem  the  annals  contained  in  these  pages;  but 
you  will  kindly  accept,  as  the  last  offering  which 
love  can  bring,  this  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one, 
whose  appreciation  of  the  devotion  of  her  friends 
was  only  equaled  by  her  appreciation  of  the  respon- 
sibilities  made   hers   by   such   devotion. 

The  flowers  were  sent  me  from  loving  hands. 
I    have   essayed   to   combine   them    into    an   harmoni- 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

ons  fluster.  Miid  now  I  place  them  in  ycur  hands 
trnstingly — ho):)efully.  May  their  grateful  fragrance 
awaken  associations  Avhich  shall  call  l)ack  through 
Memory's  halls  words,  acts  and  scenes,  from  the  life 
passed  from  us  into  the  realms  of  tlie  spiritual, 
which  shall  be  an  inspiration  through  all  the  dav« 
to    come, 

C.  M. 

AvoNDALE   Home, 

Martin's    Ferry, 

Ohio. 

Augud  16th,    1879. 


j[n  (TUemonam* 


Died — In  Sau  Antonio,  on  the  evening  of  the 
25th  of  February,  1879,  Effle  McMillaiv,  niece  and 
adopted  daughter  of  J.  C.  McMillan,  Esq.,  of  Xenia, 
Ohio. 

|EALOUS  of  earth's  bright  possessions, 
an  envious  heaven  has  claimed  the 
^m^'  better  and  immortal  part  of  Effie 
McMillan.  At  this  separation  of  clay  and 
spirit,  a  brave,  pure  soul  winged  its  way  to 
its  God.  In  condoling  with  the  tearful 
friends  who  mourn,  w^e  can  offer  only,  by 
way  of  consolation,  the  remembrance  of  a 
life's  duty  quietly  and  simply  but  fully 
done. 


12  IN      MEMORIAM. 

About  the  iirst  of  last  December,  Miss 
McMillan  came  to  Texas,  hoping  to  recuper- 
ate her  fast-feiling  health.  For  a  while, 
the  high  hopes  which  were  based  on  the 
vitalizing  powers  of  the  genial  sunland,  bid 
fair  to  be  realized ;  but  with  the  unusually 
severe  weather  of  the  Christmas  holidays, 
there  came  an  appalling  change  for  the 
worse,  and  thereafter  the  most  sanguine 
friends  could  speak  no  words  of  hope.  With 
the  setting  of  Tuesday's  sun.  the  struggle 
was  over,  and  her  soul,  tried  in  much  phy- 
sical torture,  was  at  peace  in  the  bosom  of 
its  Saviour.  It  will  gratify  her  absent  friends 
to  know  that  she  died  not  as  among  stran- 
gers. The  last  vigils  were  kept  by  friendly 
eyes,  and  the  last  struggles,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible,   alleviated   bv   friendlv   hands.* 


*Mr.  L.  Slaydeu,  in  San   Antonio   Daily   Express 
of    February   26tli,    1879. 


IN      MEMORIAM.  13 


M(  MiLLAN. — Feljruury  25,  1879,  in  San  Antonio, 
Texas,  Efiie  McMillan,  niece  and  adopted  daughter 
of    J.  C.  McMillan.   Esq.,    of  Xenia.    Ohio. 

"■^jf^iEATH  loves  a  shining  mark."  Effie 
"A^i  McMillan's  gifts,  both  natural  and 
^^¥^  acquired,  were  of  a  high  order.  Her 
foster-father  afforded  her  every  opportunity 
to  secure  a  thorough  education.  A  gradu- 
ate, with  the  honors  of  her  class  (1876),  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Female  College,  she  devoted 
herself  to  teaching  with  the  ardor  which  so 
often  characterizes  cultivated  and  earnest 
young  souls.  She  overtasked  her  energies 
while  laboring  in  the  Female  Seminary  at 
Hollidaysburg,  Pa.  Her  health  gave  way ; 
the  fatal  consumption,  to  escape  which  she 
fled  to  San  Antonio,  fastened  upon  her  sys- 
tem, and  neither  skill  nor  affectionate  care 
could    dislodge    it. 


14  IN      MEMORIAM. 


A  Christian  and  a  lady,  a  worker  and  a 
believer,  her  short  life  was  beautiful  in  its 
womanliness;  her  death,  peaceful  and  happy. 
When  so  feeble  as  to  be  scarcely  able  to 
speak,  she  whispered,  when  near  the  end, 
that  she  was  going  to  the  heavenly  home. 
Pointing  upward  with  her  finger,  and  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  that  which  is  not  seen,  she 
"  endured    as   seeing  Him   who    is    invisible."* 


*  Rev.    W.    T.   Morehead,    D.   D.,   in    The   United 
Presbyterian   of    March    19th,    1819. 


IN      MEMORIAM.  15. 


Miss    Effie    McMillan. 

^^<i^>ROM      the      sunny     clime,     where     the 
I     spring      flowers      bloom,     and      nature 
symbolizes    the   spring  time   of    immor- 
tal   life,    comes    the    sad    intelligence: 

Pied — In  Sail  Antonio,  on  the  evening  of  the 
25th  of  Febrnaiy,  1879,  Efiie  McMillan,  niece  and 
adopted  dangliter  of  J.  C.  McMillan,  Esq.,  of  Xenia, 
Ohio. 

In  the  dawn  of  womanhood,  our  de- 
ceased friend  has  passed  away  to  the 
realms  of  endless  peace  and  glory;  but 
in  the  short  space  of  her  earthly  life, 
she  quickly  and  fully  finished  the  mission 
which  was  allotted  to  her  by  her  Covenant 
God.  She  developed  a  character  refined  in 
nature,  harmonious  in  all  its  blendings,  and 
withal,    beautified    by     a     spirit     pure,    noble. 


16  IN     MEMORIAM. 


and  elevated.  Difficulties  and  trials  were 
surmounted  by  the  exercise  of  a  heroic 
faith,  which  knew  nothing  of  failure.  As 
a  student,  she  garnered  rich  fruits  of  intel- 
lectual stores.  Few  at  her  age  have 
acquired  such  breadth  of  knowledge,  quick- 
ness of  perception,  and  accuracy  of  reason- 
ing, as  marked  her  educational  course,  which 
gave  promise  of  a  high  standard  of  culture 
and  thoroughness  of  scholarship.  With  her, 
the  real  and  true  constituted  the  goal,  and 
not  the  fanciful  and  superficial.  There  was 
a  dignity  in  her  mien  which,  because  of 
its  naturalness,  won  for  her  the  esteem  and 
love  of  all  with  whom  she  associated.  As 
illustrative  of  this,  I  will  quote  a  paragraph 
from  the  Daily  Express,  of  San  .Antonio : 
"  It  will  gratify  her  absent  friends  to  know 
that  she  died  not  as  among  strangers.  The 
last  vigils  were  kept  by  friendly  eyes,  and 
the  last  struggles,  so  far  as  possible,  alle- 
viated   by    friendly    hands." 


IN     MEMORIAM.  17 

Her  spiritual  life  was  characterized  by 
deep  conviction  of  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus ;  frankness  of  confession,  strength  of 
faith,  and  elevated  consecration ;  with  her 
religion  was  neither  a  form  nor  a  dogma, 
but  a  "soul-life,"  the  realities  of  which  were 
manifested  in  the  walk  and  beautiful  con- 
sistencies of  Christian  life;  and  as  she 
lived,  so  has  she  triumphed  in  the  closing 
scene. 

This  young  life  has  not  always  been 
bright — shadows,  and  even  clouds,  have  at 
times  darkened  her  pathway  and  saddened 
her  heart ;  but  even  when  the  night  shade 
lowered,  the  beaming  smile  of  a  trusting 
heart  would  illumine  the  clouds,  and  the 
morrow  would  find  her  wrestling  with  new 
energy    in    her    life-work. 

Such  a  life — pure  in  its  nature,  honest  in 
its  purpose,  cultured  in  its  bearing,  and,  to 
crown  all,  sanctified  by  grace,  speaks  from 
"  the   beyond,"    and    by    its    silent    testimony 


Ig  IN      MEMORIAM. 


presents  to  our  youth  an  example  worthy 
to  be  treasured  in  memory,  revered  for  its 
consistency,    and   lovingly   followed. 

"  From   this   unanchored   world, 
Whose   morrow   none   can   tell. 
From   all   things   restless   here, 
Pass   over   to   thy   rest, 
The    rest  of    God."* 


*Rev.    Thomas    C.   Strong,    D.   D.,    in  Pittsburgh  Evek- 


iNG  Telegraph,    March   5th.    1870'. 


BauncPeb* 


LAUNCHED 


-Two   angels,   one   of    Life   and   one   of    Death. 
Passed   o'er   our  viUage   as   the  morning  broke.'' 

..  How    shall   it   be   with   her,  the   tender   stranger, 
Fair-faced   and    gentle-eyed. 
Before  whose    unstained    feet    the    world's    rude 

highway 

Stretches   so   fair   and  wide?" 

f^WEXTY-TWO  years  ago.  into  a  humble 
home   hi    Central    Ohio,    there    came    a 
%i^     tiny   mite    o\'   humanity,   ^vhose    exist- 
ence,   in    the   midst  of  desolation  and   sorrow, 
was    scaiL-ely    recognized.       The    entire    house- 
hold   wa<    prostrated    with    a     fearful    type    of 
fever,    and   this    frail  bit    of  humanity  seemed 
stranded   upon    an    unknown    shore,    and   but 
awaiting    a    returning    wave    to    carry   it    back 
to    the    Eternity    from    which    it    had    so    re- 
centlv    been    wafted. 


22  LAUNCHED. 


Thus    this   home   was    found   by    a  relative, 
who   had    come    to    it    in    the    hour    of    need. 
Having  arranged  for  the  tending  of  the    sick 
ones    who    had    already    an    established    claim 
upon    life,    she    gave    her    attention     to    the 
little    stranger.      The  spark  of  life  was  faint, 
but    the     good     woman     determined     that    it 
should    be    carefully  fanned,  and   if  it    should 
go    out   in    darkness,   her    own    loving   hands 
should    lay   the    little    sleeper    to    rest.       So, 
carefully    wrapped    and    placed    on    a    pillow 
of    smallest    size,    the    infant   was    carried    to 
a   new    home    in    Southern    Ohio.       In    this 
home     no    voice    of    infancy    for    many   years 
had    sounded,    and    many  curious,   sympathetic 
friends    came    daily    to  have  a   look  at  "  Mrs. 
McMillan's  baby."      Motherly  eyes  filled  with 
tears    as    they   rested   on   the  features   so    per- 
fect  in   their  diminutiveness,  thinking,    doubt- 
less,   of    the    uncertain    future    awaiting    the 
little  stranger  left  motherless — fatherless — thus 
early   on   life's  journey. 


LAUNCHED.  23 


The  child  was  called  Effie  for  an  aunt, 
who  wished,  in  future  months,  to  adopt  lier 
as  her  own.  Meanwhile  the  little  Effie 
assumed  signs  of  life,  began  to  put  on  the 
innocent  graces  of  babyhood,  and  to  look 
wonderingly  into  the  eyes  of  her  foster- 
parents  ;  so  that,  when  the  aunt  came  to 
claim  her  child,  after  a  night  spent  in  dis- 
cussion, they  refused  to  let  it  go.  And 
she,  with  her  husband,  went  back  to  her 
home,  lonely  and  disappointed,  but  assured 
that  the  sacrifice  was  for  the  future  well- 
being  of  the  tender  little  one,  who  thence- 
forth  became    Effie    McMillan. 

Thus,  in  loving  care  and  solicitude,  dawned 
this  young  life.  For  six  brief  years  the 
child  was  the  constant  care  and  delight  of 
hearts  that  grew  daily  in  affectionate  devo- 
tion. But  a  change  came.  .  .  .  Disease  had 
for  years  been  making  stealthy  inroads  in 
the  gifted  mind  of  the  devoted  mother. 
Even    the  "windows  of  the  soul"  were  dark- 


24  LAUNCHED. 


en 


ed  by  its  touch.  The  large,  dark  eyes, 
always  full  of  strong  intelligence  and  feel- 
ino-  rolled  eagerly  in  their  sockets  in  search 
of  famiUar  objects  of  vision.  Many  means 
were  tried  to  restore  health  to  the  feeble 
body — consequent  vigor  to  the  mind — and 
vision  to  the  eyes,  from  which  the  light  had 
o-one  out,  but  to  no  avail — till  death  came 
in  the  guise  of  deep  sleep — and  the  little 
Effie  was  a  second  time,  in  a  life  so  brief, 
left   motherless. 

The  revolving  circuit  of  life's  changes 
brought  to  this  saddened  home,  in  less  than 
two  years,  a  gentle  spirit  whose  sway  proved 
a  blessing  and  a  happiness  to  all.  She 
came  with  such  loving,  quiet  grace,  with 
such  rare  judgment,  that  all  hearts  were 
won.  Though  gentle,  she  was  strong  in 
the  right,  and  the  hearts  of  her  friends 
safely    relied    on    her. 

Our  little  Effie  grew  in  childish  grace 
and   in    stature.       She    was    carefully    guarded 


LAUNCHED.  25 


from  evil,  and  instructed  in  wisdom's  ways. 
The  successive  comins^  of  two  little  daug-h- 
ters  brought  no  diminution  of  care  and  love 
for  the  thoughtful-eyed  child — no  injustice 
— no    prophesy    of    future    ill. 

These  were  vears  of  blessins:.  the  care- 
free  child-life  passing  into  happy  school-girl 
days,  in  which  began  to  be  evolved  the 
elements  of  future  character.  She  evinced, 
in  early  life,  a  love  for  music  of  the  sacred 
order — deep,  soul-stirring,  or  of  triumphant 
strain. 

Her  selections  for  poetic  recitation  were 
such  as  Absalom,  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  The 
Celestial  Country,  or  some  sweet,  pathetic 
waif,  which  minds  thereto  inclined  can 
always  bring  forth  from  hidden  stores.  Se- 
lections such  as  these,  given  in  her  undu- 
lating, sympathetic  tones,  ever  touched  a 
responsive  chord  in  the  hearts  of  listeners. 
She  evinced  an  aptitude  for  writing,  also, 
which  was  a  promise   of  much  future   ability. 


26  LAUNCHED. 

But  the  pathetic  and  sympathetic  phase  of 
our  Effie's  character  thus  early  developed, 
was  only  one  of  its  many  distinctions.  She 
had  the  keenest  appreciation  of  the  ludic- 
rous, and  was  a  leading  spirit  in  the  school- 
room's happy  throng.  In  consequence,  even- 
ing after  evening,  as  the  boys  and  girls 
were  dismissed,  Miss  McMillan  was  requested 
to  remain  for  a  few  minutes'  conversation 
with  the  good  Professor.  She  had  no  dread 
of  these  interviews,  for  she  knew,  from  fre- 
quent experience,  their  import.  With  utmost 
good  nature,  she  would  walk  to  the  seat 
of  the  threatened  inquisition.  After  a 
smiling  reproof  for  inability  to  control  her 
risibles,  the  inquisitor  would  launch  into  a 
discourse  upon  the  responsibilities  of  those 
possessed  of  superior  mental  endowments, 
and  would  close  his  ostensible  lecture  with 
encouraging  narrations  concerning  those  who 
had  risen  to  heights  of  mental  power  and 
culture   through   many   trials  and  deprivations. 


LAUNCHED. 


27 


All  this  was  quietly  accepted  by  the  young 
school-girl  as  a  not  unpleasant,  but  scarcely 
intelligible,  part  of  her  daily  discipline.  But 
in  after  years,  when  fired  with  the  ambition 
to  make  the  most  of  her  noble  mind,  and 
to  create  for  herself  a  place  among  men 
and  women  of  intellect,  it  returned  to 
her  as  a  pleasant  remembrance  and  encour- 
agement. 

Such  was  Effie  McMillan,  the  school-girl 
of  fourteen — at  home,  dutiful,  patient,  pleas- 
ant of  temper,  unselfish,  and  trusted — when 
a  second  time  a  heavy  cloud  of  grief  hung 
suspended  over  this  oft-visited  household. 
The  noble,  gentle-voiced  mother,  who  had 
for  vears  been  in  delicate  health — much  of 
the  time  away  from  home  for  medical  aid 
— had  returned  with  the  brightness  of  hope 
in  her  eye,  and  apparent  bloom  of  health 
upon  her  cheek;  but  in  two  short  weeks 
the  Death  Angel  had  feithfuUy  completed 
his    mission.        The    spirit    had     gone     to    the 


28  LAUNCHED. 


Beautiful  Home  for  which  it  was  so  abund- 
antly prepared.  She  had  been  for  these 
years  as  a  guardian  angel — as  "  sunshine  in 
a  shady  place."  The  angel  had  tied  to  its 
native  home — the   shadows   had  deepened  into 


night. 


The  father  was  now  an  old  man.  He 
had  feithfully  loved  and  cared  for  the  little 
Effie  in  his  childless  days,  and  now,  with 
her  deeply  affectionate  nature,  she  endeared 
herself  to  his  heart  yet  more.  With  tlie 
orphaned  little  ones,  who  "  now,  in  softened 
mood,"  became  his  constant  companions,  she 
was  ever  the  object  of  his  kindly  care  and 
solicitude. 

In  other  days,  and  in  her  tender  years, 
there  had  also  been  adopted  into  this  num- 
ber a  sister  of  the  Effie  so  well-beloved, 
who  remained  there  during  the  vicissitudes  of 
passing  years,  save  for  a  short  period  after 
her  graduation,  during  which  time  she  was 
engaged     in     an     educational     institution     in 


LAUNCHED.  29 


Southern  Ohio.  Now,  therefore,  having  but 
partially  emerged  from  a  long  indisposition 
and  deep  mental  gloom,  the  thought  of  the 
sweet  devotion  and  helpfulness  to  each 
which  might  yet  grow  out  of  their  sister- 
hood, came  to  her  like  a  revelation.  And 
the  two  hearts — one  young  and  hopeful,  the 
other  tried  in  the  furnace  till  hope  had 
almost  fled — became  as  one  in  motive,  in 
aspiration,  and  endeavor  for  future  good. 
At  home,  pleasant  books  were  read  aloud ; 
piano  and  organ,  carefully  attuned  to  one 
pitch,  mingled  their  tones  to  make  evening 
harmonious,  and  the  sweet  voices  of  the 
children    lent    a    charm    to  the    songs. 

Pleasant,    cultured   people    came    and    went. 

The  quiet  street,  in  summer  arched  with 
beautiful  maples,  seemed  an  avenue  in 
which,  shut  oft'  from  the  vain  world,  each 
minded  first  his  own  aft'airs,  then  sought 
the  good  and  happiness  of  his  neighbor. 
In    winter,    bright  firesides    and  brighter   eyes 


30  LAUNCHED. 


held    always    in    store    a    warm    welcome   for 
the    social   neighbor. 

The  trait  most  strongly  marked  in  our 
dear  Effie's  character,  during  this  little  era 
of  less  than  two  years  duration,  was  a  deep 
sympathy  for  every  phase  of  discomfort  and 
sorrow  which  came  under  her  notice.  She 
would  say,  in  most  appealing  tones,  "Come, 
let  us  go  down  and  see  poor  Mrs.  N. 
Think  of  her,  all  alone  with  those  bad 
children."  Or,  "  Let  us  go  and  see  poor  Mrs. 
D.  She  never  goes  out,  and  never  gets  to 
see  any  one."  Or,  "Poor  Mrs.  A.  is  so 
lonely;  let  us  go  over  and  talk  to  her." 
This  trait  was  so  manifest,  that  familiar 
friends  often  rallied  the  dear  child  upon 
her  desire  to  assume  the  woes  and  take  the 
cares  of  the  entire  community  on  her  young 
shoulders. 

Thus  early,  too,  her  religious  impressions 
became  deep  and  fixed.  In  a  little,  quiet 
retreat  of  her    native    town,  called    the    Third 


LAUNCHED.  31 


Church,  she  enrolled  her  name,  and  took 
for  the  first  time  the  Holy  Communion. 
She  took  her  seat,  also,  among  the  singers, 
who  there  rendered  the  quaint  old  "  Psalms 
of  David "  "  without  harp,  or  psaltery,  or 
stringed   instrument." 

Time  passed  away,  and  brought  another 
of    life's    lessons. 

As  blessings  come  oft  to  us  in  the  guise 
of  deep  misfortunes,  and  curses  in  angelic 
srarb,  so  there  came  into  the  life  and  into 
the  home  of  the  young  girl  something 
promising  joy  and  good,  but  which  brought 
in  its  train  an  experience  so  dark  that 
we  would  fain  draw  a  vail  of  impenetrable 
fold  over  its  scenes,  and  shut  them  from 
memory's  view  forever.  From  the  fiery 
ordeal  our  Effie  emerged  with  wasted  form 
and  languid  step — face,  from  which  the  smile 
had  faded — eyes,  from  which  the  spirit-light 
seemed    to    have    died    out. 


©u^xtjatb    (^ounb+ 


OUTWARD    BOUND. 


"And   all   fancies   yearn    to    cover 
The   hard   earth   whereon   she   passes, 
With   the   thymy-scented    grasses." 

"  Visions   of    childhood  I       Stay.    O    stay  ! 
Ye    were    so    sweet   and    mild  I 
And   distant   voices   seem   to    say, 
'  It   cannot   be  I       They   pass   away  I 
Other   themes    demand    th}'   laj* ; 
Thon    art    no    more    a   child.' " 

M^HE  autumn  of  1S74  found  our  Effie 
olSpl  established  at  Mt.  Auburn  Institute, 
^>^  situated  on  the  beautiful  suburban 
heishth  bearino:  that  name,  overlooking  the 
city  of  Cincinnati.  She  was  but  seventeen, 
and  thenceforth  virtually  homeless.  But 
here,  under  encoura£:ing  influences,  life  again 
became     to     the     young     mind     a     thing     of 


36  OUTWARD      BOUND. 


beauty  and  a  joy.  In  three  months  from 
her  entrance  into  this  school,  her  most 
familiar  friends  would  not  have  recognized, 
in  the  young  girl  with  beaming  countenance 
and  ringing  laugh,  the  pale,  sad-eyed  Effie 
of    weeks    before. 

The  school  was  small,  but  with  teachers 
of  the  first  ability.  Beloved  of  its  noble 
president  and  the  many  friends  she  found 
here,  as  in  every  place  of  sojourn,  Effie's 
character  began  to  unfold  into  a  singularly 
marked    individuality. 

Thus  passed  a  year  of  quiet  study  and 
progress.  Strong  attachments  were  here 
formed,  which  had  much  influence  over  her 
future  life.  And  the  gift  of  sprightly 
narration  and  forcible  description,  with  which 
she  so  often  delighted  her  friends,  became  a 
decided    trait    of    mental    development. 

Early  in  this  year  Professor  Newall,  the 
able  and  gifted  President  of  Mt.  Auburn 
Institute,     died      suddenly,     leaving    all      con- 


OUTWARD      BOUND.  37 

cerned  with  it  in  deepest  uncertainty.  The 
school  was  continued,  however,  under  tlie 
care  of  a  former  president,  through  the 
year ;  but  at  its  close,  teachers  and  pupils 
went  forth  to  seek  new  homes  and  other 
halls  of  study.  Effie — child  _  of  circum- 
stances— joined  her  sister,  and  together  they 
spent  the  sweet  summer  days  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  pretty  town  of  Oxford,  in 
Southern  Ohio.  Here  mutual  relationships 
brought  her  into  a  charmed  circle,  of 
which  Professor  Swing  was  the  centre,  and 
the  holiday  hours  glided  by  in  a  succession 
of  rural  delights.  But  they  were  gone  as 
a  pleasant  dream,  and  the  young  girl  re- 
turned for  a  few  weeks  to  Xenia,  to  prepare 
for    a    coming    year's    work. 

The  letter  here  introduced,  from  her  friend, 
is  full  of  beauty,  and  expressive  of  that 
interest  so  often  shown  by  those  who  read 
her  character  in  the  quiet  manifestations  of 
its    depth    and    fullness : 


449623 


38  OUTWARD      BOUND. 


Dear   Effie  : 

Such  a  quiet  hour  has.  come  that  I  must 
talk  with  mj'  new  friend,  and  thus  make  the  silence 
full  of  society.  It  is  a  Sunday  night,  without  a 
cloud  and  with  a  sky  full  of  stars.  The  lake  is 
roaring  from  the  effects  of  the  storm  that  has 
been  blowing  all  da^y.  You,  whose  mind  is  so  full 
of  sensitiveness  in  presence  of  Nature,  would  greatly 
enjoy  the  scene  from  our  windows,  where  skj^  and 
lake  offer  two  pictures — the  one  of  heaven's  peace 
the   other   of    earth's   tumult. 

Friends,  who  have  been  in  the  parlor  all  evening, 
have  all  gone,  and  have  left  me  free  to  follow  fancv 
or  memory.  In  this  hour,  Memory  comes  in  the  more 
pleasing  gai'b.  To  me  she  is  more  beautiful  than 
Hope.  What  has  been  is  ours.  It  is  in  the  soul. 
What  maj^  be  is  uncertain.  And  then  there  is  a 
pensiveness  in  memory ;  a  solemn  thought  that  all 
has  fled,  a  feeling  that  life  is  like  fading  roses,  that 
delights  the  soul  with  sadness.  Tears  are  often  a 
joy. 

I  promised  to  tell  you  what  defect  there  is  in 
the  love  of  Nature.  The  defect  is  this:  Nature 
will   never   speak    any   kind    word    to    us.       The   hills 


OUTWARD      BOUND.  89 


and  vales,  into  which  3'ou  love  to  gaze  b}'  the 
hour,  will  never  speak  tenderlj-  to  you,  nor  will 
the}'  be  moved  to  shed  a  tear  when  you  pass 
away  from  earth.  Nothing  in  the  magnificent  ex- 
ternal world  will  ever  come  to  vou  and  saj^, 
"Effle?"  The  human  spirit  is,  therefore,  the  best 
earthly  shrine  at  which  we  can  worship ;  and 
always,  alwa3's  shall  I  prefer  to  look  upon  a  human 
forehead,  and  into  a  friend's  face,  than  gaze  at  the 
grandest   mountain    or   deepest  sea. 

But  we  need  not  turn  away  from  Nature.  The 
human  friend  onlj'  helps  us  enjo}'  the  world  the 
more;  but  the  friend  is  the  real,  grand  world, 
most  worthy  of  aflection.  In  memory,  the  scenes 
along  that  stream  will  stand  in  sweet  lines  forever, 
but  sweeter  alwa3^s  will  be  the  memory  of  the 
friend  that  was  beside  me,  for  the  heart  of  the 
innocent  and  gentle  is  something  higher  than  the 
verdure   of    the    woods    or   the  murmur   of    waters. 

Do  not  be  astonished  when  friends  love  you. 
You  should  expect  the  utmost  kindness  from  all, 
for  your  face  is  full  of  youth  and  affection,  and  if 
we  dare  not  love  you,  wh}^  should  we  love  any 
thing,  or  possess  that  power  in  the  spirit  ?  Is  my 
soul   to   love   the   trees   onl}'  ? 


40  OUTWARD      BOUND. 


One  more  year  of  study,  you  say.  Do  not  care 
for  courses  of  study,  nor  appoint  a  time  to  end  it. 
Read  and  talk.  Memorize  prose  and  poetry,  that 
your  soul  may  thus  acquire  wings,  by  which  it  may 
fly  out  into  the  wide  world  and  be  free.  The 
chief  task  to  be  performed,  is  to  break  the  bars  of 
iron  that  imprison  ns  and  to  be  free.  Yours  is 
an  infinite  Christ.  He  loves  all,  sing  they  hymn 
or  psalm.  Thus  may  you  escape  all  the  forms  of 
bondage ;  the  bondage  of  self-depreciation,  of  dis- 
trust, of  indiflference,  of  repose,  and  move  out  into 
the   open   fields   of   life   and  joy. 

A  gifted,  beautiful  so\il,  half  imprisoned.  You 
thought  kind  words  must  be  oul}'  in  jest,  that  none 
could  love  you  deeply !  And  then  you  felt  that  to 
conceal  friendship  was  a  first  duty  !  Had  I  con- 
cealed my  friendship  for  you  and  your  loved  sister, 
we  would  never  have  been  such  friends.  Now  are 
we   not  joined   in   lifelong  ties  ? 

If  your  heart  so  incline,  you  must  spend  a 
year  here  in  some  school.  But  if  your  heart  looks 
eastward,  then  you  must  go  eastward ;  for  no  one 
but  you  can  read  the  longings  of  your  own  heart. 
Should  you  come  here,  my  familj^  will  all  help  you 
toward   the   feeling   that   home    is    near    by.      Should 


OUTWARD      BOUND.  41 

you  go  eastward,  then  3'ou  must  visit  us  sometime 
while  your  beautiful  girliiood  is  so  easily  made 
happy. 

I  am  very  sorry  that,  upon  ray  return  this  week, 
you  will  no  longer  lie  within  the  reach  of  our 
large  carriage.  I  shall  cherish  the  hope  that  you 
will,  when  the  time  of  study  returns,  cast  your  eyes 
up  northward  and  westward,  and  in  your  heart 
long  to  be  near  us  all  who  have  added  to  old  ties 
of    relationship   new    ties   of    special   love. 

The  same  Creator  made  us  all,  and  in  His  beau- 
tiful impartiality  did  not  fill  your  heart  with  sin- 
cerity and  mine  with  coldness  and  form,  but 
made  us  all  ready  to  hear  and  to  speak  kind 
words  out  of  the  heart's  depths.  No  doubt  this 
is  the  only  long  letter  you  will  ever  receive  from 
me.  You  already  have  a  large  business  to  transact 
in  the  letter  line,  and  hence  I  shall  not  expect  you 
to  write  to  me.  Again  I  express  the  hope  that 
the  affection  which  so  many  bestow  upon  you  will 
only  cheer  3-011  along  the  paths  of  culture,  and  will 
make  you  feel  not  only  how  sweet  is  life,  but  how 
full  of  responsibility  are  its  fleeting  days. 
Ever  your   own   friend, 

David   Swing. 
Chicago,   August    1st. 


fait   TDinbe. 


FAIR    WINDS. 


"  Have   hope !      Though   clouds   en\'iron   round 
And   gladness   hides   her   face   in    scorn. 
Put   thou   the    shadow    from   thv    brow. 


iN"©   night   but    hath   its   morn. 


Have   faith  I      "U'here   e'er  thy  bark  is  driven, 
The   calm's   disport,   the    tempest's   mirth, 
Know   this,    God    rules   the   hosts   of   heaven, 
The   inhabitants   of    earth." 

^j^l^OME  lives  are  like  the  smooth,  un- 
pII*!  broken  surface  of  a  quiet  woodland 
'^^^  lake ;  others  like  the  restless  flow  of 
ocean  current,  and  chansreful  as  its  heaAdns;  bil- 
lows.  So  was  it  ever  through  the  years  with 
— Effie.  The  Pennsylvania  College,  at  East 
End,  Pittsburgh,  beautiful  for  situation,  and 
comfortable,  even  elegant,  in  all  its  appoint- 
ments, deserves   a   name  of  more    sio-nificance. 


46  FAIR     WINDS. 


Here,  with  the  return  of  autumn,  under  the 
able  care  of  Dr.  Strong  and  Miss  Helen  E. 
Pelletreau,  the  young  student  found  a  fa- 
vored   spot,    and    study    became    a    pleasure. 

A  year  passed  on  in  the  trials  and  tri- 
umphs incident  to  life  in  a  young  ladies' 
boarding  school,  and  at  its  close  Effie  stood 
an  acknowledged  leader.  Of  her  position 
none  were  envious — her  sway  was  disputed  by 
none ;  for,  as  always,  respect,  love  and  honor, 
had  followed  her  steps.  Of  the  fourteen 
lovely  young  girls  who  looked  out  through  the 
rosy  mists  of  "  Commencement  Day "  upon 
what  seemed  to  them  a  new  and  glorious 
world,  there  was  not  one  to  whom  it 
seemed  to  offer  more  than  to  Effie  McMil- 
lan. Life  seemed  spread  out  before  her  in 
long,  bright  vista,  for  she  had  within  herself 
capabilities  equal  to  any  demand,  while 
health  lightened  her  step  and  brightened 
her  eye,  and  gave  a  sweet  power  to  her 
presence. 


FAIR      WINDS. 


47 


It  was  within  those  months  that,  in  a 
letter  received  from  a  gifted  friend,  there 
occurred  this  passage—"  Effie  is  a  great  ship, 
sailing  near  Heaven.  You  and  I  are  hut 
little  boats,  beaten  about  upon  the  shores 
of  Time."  Words  lightly  written,  doubt- 
less, by  the  author,  but  they  lodged  in  the 
heart  of  a  fond  sister,  and  remained  there 
as  an  oft-recurring  propliesy.  Who  could 
have  guessed  that  the  "great  ship,"  with 
sails  full  and  beautiful,  should  so  soon  glide 
peacefully  into  the  Heavenly  port,  whilst 
the  little  boats  afar,  still  tempest  tossed  and 
beaten,    drift    along    the    shores    of   Time. 

She  tarried  within  the  college  walls  for 
a  time,  to  recover  from  the  excitement  and 
fatigue  attendant  upon  the  closing  scenes  of 
the  school  year,  and  then  returned  to  the 
quiet  town  which  had  been  the  home  of 
her  childhood.  Many  friends  greeted  the  re- 
turn of  the  young  girl,  grown  so  stately 
and    mature    in    a    few     brief    years.       They 


48  FAIR     ^INDS. 


could    scarcely    recognize    in    her    the    gentle, 
pleasant    child    that,   in    days    not    far    gone 
hy,    had    o-Uded   in    and    out    of    their   homes. 
Motherly    hearts    welcomed     her    return    with 
generous    affection.     Freedom    from    the    daily 
routine    of   study,    for    a    time,    seemed    very 
pleasant,     but    with    the    return    of     physical 
and  mental  vigor,  induced  by  rest,  her  active 
mind     demanded     an     active    fie-ld.      A    little 
visit  was   planned   to    the   northward.     Whilst 
with    the    friends,    proud    and    happy    at    her 
unexpected    coming — her    busy    brain    did    not 
rest    from    constant    devising    of    ways    which 
should    satisfy   her  determination — it  occurred 
to   her    to    write    to    a    relative    unknown    to 
her    in    the    past    save    by    reputation    and    a 
mere    casual    meeting.       A    response     to    her 
note    of    inquiry   came  quick  and   decisive   by 
telegram — "  Can  you  come  and   teach    a    little 
school    in    Mt.    Pleasant  I "      The     young    girl 
questioned,    "  Shall    I    go     on     a     message    so 
vague?"  and  her    brave    heart    and   judgment 


FAIR      WINDS.  49 


responded,  -  Yes."  A  letter  followed  the 
decision,  saying,  '•  I  will  come  ;"  and  in  the 
midst  of  cold  and  storm,  she  started  out 
OATr  unfamiliar  roads  to  a  new  experience 
in    life. 

Out  of  darkness,  and  cold  and  rain,  into 
the  warmth  and  brightness  of  the  cheerful 
parsonage  parlor  at  Mt.  Pleasant,  Pa.,  a 
graceful  welcome  made  right  all  the  strange- 
ness   and    discomfort    of    two    wearv    davs. 

The  following  morning,  in  the  little  studv 
of  her  uncle's  handsome  church,  she  was 
confronted  by  eight  young  ladies  and  several 
gentlemen,  who  had  come  to  see  the  yoimg 
strano-er  about  to  assume  the  mental  ijuard- 
ianship  of  their  daughters,  whom  they  were 
yet  unwilling  to  send  away  from  the  re- 
straints of  home  influence.  It  was  a  brisfht 
and  happy  six  months  which  the  beautiful- 
minded  Effie  spent  in  charge  of  these 
young  girls  in  the  quiet  mountain  village. 
It    was    a    happy     season,     for    was    it    not     a 


50  FAIR      WINDS. 


starting  point  from  which,  with  energies 
newly  roused,  with  conscious  ability  within 
herself,  and  with  purpose  of  heart,  she 
should  climb  higher  and  higher,  and  make 
for  herself  a  place  and  position  which  none 
miojht    ofainsav. 

Study  and  travel  had  brought  into  the 
parsonage  much  from  the  outside  world,  and 
people  of  culture  and  refinement  from  all 
parts  of  the  land  found  within  its  walls  a 
hospitality  most  graceful  and  charming.  And 
this  new  life,  with  its  daily  routine,  with 
nothing  to  offer  from  the  outside  world, 
instead  of  being  narrowing  in  its  tendencies 
was   notably    the    reverse.     ' 

Frequent  little  trips  to  the  city  were 
planned  for  the  young  teacher  by  her  new 
friend,  the  kind  "  Mistress  of  the  Manse." 
From  these — having  gathered  courage  and 
inspiration  from  the  faces  of  loved  friends, 
and  busied  herself  with  the  execution  of 
many    commissions,     she     would    return     com- 


FAIR      WINDS.  51 

pletely    renewed   in   spirit,   to  walk   quietly  on 
in    the   humble    path    of    duty. 

To  her,  Nature  spoke  a  language  needing 
no  interpreter.  The  shifting  shadows  of 
the  mountain  side  were  to  her  a  continual 
panorama  of  beauty,  and,  knowing  her  love 
for  them,  the  young  people  brought  her 
generous  offerings  of  beautiful  things  from 
mountain  and  meadow.  Excursions  over  the 
steep,  rocky  roads  to  some  fine  point  were 
a  favorite  Saturday  pastime  for  the  little 
school,  with  additions  from  their  young 
friends  of  the  village.  How  the  young  girl 
enjoyed  them !  She  drank  in  with  intense 
delight  every  beauty  of  earth  and  sky,  and 
more  than  all,  the  light-hearted  glee  and  en- 
joyment of  the  young  spirits  about  her. 
These  were  gala  days.  She  left  Mt.  Pleasant, 
and  the  sweet  home  she  had  there  found, 
endeared    to    all    hearts. 

Once    more,    and   for   the   last   time,   a  sum- 
mer   of    rest    came.      Hastening    to    the    city. 


52  FAIR     WINDS. 


she    sent   for    the    sister    to    whom    her    devo- 
tion   had    become    as    a    guiding    star,    having 
arranged   that   they    should    spend    a    summer 
of   happiness  together.     The    College    at    the 
East    End    had    ever    been     a    favorite    spot. 
A    few    days    later,    within    its    ample    walls 
and    quiet     shadows,    were    the    sisters.       All 
had   dispersed    to    their    scattered  homes,  save 
a    few   choice    friends    who    were     to    remain 
through    the     coming     months.       And     never 
while   life    endures    shall    fade    from    memory's 
walls    the    sweet   pictures   of  that  happy  time. 
The    days    were    not    an     idle    dream,    but    a 
constant    activity,    in    which    lived,   and  loved, 
and    planned,    and    wrote,    these    friends.      INo 
shadow    of    selfishness,    no     clashing    of    inter- 
ests,   none    of    the    moods  '  or    ills    to    which 
flesh    is    heir,   entered    the    charmed    precinct 
during  all   the   beautiful  days ;    and  it   seemed 
almost   as   a    special    season,    granted    to    cast 
a     grateful     lio-lit     over     darker    recollections 
which    the    unrevealed    future    held    in    store. 


^ea  (piurmura^ 


SEA    MURMURS. 


"  Once   more    uj^On    the   waves :    yet   once   more ! 
And   the   waA^es    bound    beneath    me   as   a    steed 
That   knows   his    rider.      Welcome   to    their   roar ! 
Swift  be   their   guidance   whereso'er   it   lead ! 
Tho'   the    strained   mast   should   quiver  as  a    reed, 
And   the    rent   canvas   fluttering   strew  the   gale, 
Still   must   I    on." 

IN  the  old  town  of  HoUiclavsbum, 
nestled  among  the  mountains,  rise  the 
[^'  great  stone  walls  of  a  young  ladies' 
seminary.  Very  grand  looked  the  structure 
outlined  against  its  mountain  back  ground, 
as  the  eyes  of  our  Effie  rested  upon  it  for 
the  first  time.  The  cold  gray  walls  had 
caught  something  of  warmth  and  beauty 
from  their  draperies  of  American  Ivy,  already 
tinted      by     the      autumnal      sunshine.        So, 


5(3  SEA      MURMUKS. 


to  the  young  girl  called  thither  as  instruct- 
ress, it  seemed  a  fitting  place  in  which  to 
pursue  the  leadings  of  her  ideal  destiny. 
And  when  within,  she  had  entered  upon  a 
new  line  of  literary  duties,  entirely  suited  to 
her  mental  tastes,  the  prospect  seemed  bright 
indeed.  But  of  the  opening  year,  with  its 
developments,  thus  writes  one  who  gathered 
her  story  from  the  lips  of  the  young  ladies 
themselves,  as,  from  time  to  time,  they  gave 
it   her: 

''  Picture  a  young  girl  statel}'  of  mien,  with 
form  of  perfect  outline — her  shapel}^  head  crowned 
with  a  mass  of  sunbrown  hair;  broad,  smooth  tem- 
ples, with  arching  brow,  and  long,  dark  lashes 
shadowing  the  changeful  eyes  beneath.  Eyes  such 
as  those  of  which  a  gifted  one  writes—'  They  are 
deep  and  reach  back  to  the  spirit  :  eyes  full  of 
deep,  tender  and  earnest  feeling :  they  are  eyes 
which,  looked  on  once,  you  long  to  look  on  again: 
eyes   which   lie   before   you   in   your   future   like   stars 

in   the   mariner's   heaven : they   are 

meek   and   quiet,  but  full  as   a  spring  that  gushes  in 


SEA     MURMURS.  57 

flood.'  She  was  not  beautiful  of  feature  in  the 
accepted  significance  of  tlie  woid,  but  beautiful 
wherein  lies  true  loveliness.  The  i)urity  of  her 
soul  was  written  upon  hei  countenance,  where  each 
passing  though*  showed  forth  in  the  ever-varying 
expression.  Her  natural  grace  and  dignity  com- 
manded respect,  while  her  animated  conversation 
attracted   all. 

"  Such  was  Miss  McMillan  when  she  came  into 
the  midst  of  a  school  of  girls  eager  to  criticise 
and  ready  to  repel  all  advances.  To  this  noble 
woman  we  were  instinctively  drawn,  though  our 
school-girl  natures  for  a  time  rebelled.  Respect 
soon  ripened  into  ardent  admiration  and  love  for 
her   as  a   friend. 

"  Her  willingness  to  oblige  and  render  assistance, 
together  with  her  ready  smile  and  kindly  encour- 
agement, made  us  all  eager  to  seek  her  counsel, 
whenever  cause  gave  opportunity  or  excuse.  Not- 
withstanding her  conscientious  fulfillment  of  a 
teacher's  duties,  our  devotion  remained  constant, 
and  all  she  did  was  considered  good  and  just. 
Nor  was  earnest  concern  for  our  welfare  manifest 
in  matters  pertaining  to  school  alone.  When  the 
Bible   classes   were   formed    for    the    year,   a    number 

5 


58  SEA     MURMURS. 


of  oirls  who  loved  Miss  McMillan  and  loved  each 
other,  requested  tliat  they  might  have  her  for  their 
teacher.  Never  can  we  forget  the  lessons  taught 
so  sweetly  on  those  Sabbath  afternoons.  Nor  were 
we  content  to  close  the  lessons  wheA  our  time  was 
spent  but  following  her  whose  example  was  before  us, 
we  learned  daily  lessons  of  love  and  charity,  and,  at 
her  suogestion,  marked  the  many  passages  to  which 
we  frequently  referred,  that  we  might,  in  after 
days,   recall   these    Bible   talks. 

"  Miss  McMillan's  intense  lo^  e  for  flowers  was 
soon  observed  by  her  devoted  followers,  and  her 
little  sunless  room  was  brightened  and  adorned  by 
sweet  floral  tributes  from  those  who  appreciated  her 
passion.  All  were  eager  that  the  dainty  rosebud 
at  her  throat,  the  one  ornament  that  she  willingly 
wore,   should   never   be   found   Avanting. 

"At  times,  in  her  own  room,  when  the  merry 
school-girl  propensities  could  no  longer  be  restrained 
by  their  unnatural  bonds,  a  sprightly,  jesting  con- 
versation with  a  few  chosen  friends,  followed  by  a 
general  romp,  seemed  to  relieve  her  of  care  and 
to   refresh    her   for   coming   duties. 

"  '  In  the  social  hour,'  at  eventide,  when  groups 
of    lively  girls   were  scattered    about    in    chapel,   hall 


SEA     MURMURS.  59 


and  library,  she  was  always  a  centre  of  animation 
and  happiness.  Quietly  seated  about  her,  we  lis- 
tened to  her  stories  and  fancies  with  untiring  pleas- 
ure. We  loved  to  draw  out  her  opinions  upon  all 
subjects  which  troubled  our  minds,  for  she  expressed 
them  in  such  a  quaint  and  decided  way  that  we 
were  entertained  and  instructed,  at  the  same  time 
started  upon  new  lines  of  thought.  But  more 
than  all,  we  loved  those  frequent  occasions  when, 
in  a  kind  of  half  reverie — half  address — she  would 
wander  far  out  into  the  realms  of  the  '  spiritual ' 
— so  far,  that  we  might  not  clearly  follow  her 
leading;  yet  always  we  retired  from  such  interviews 
with  the  stirring  of  nobler  thoughts  and  aspirations. 
"  When  we  parted  at  the  holiday's,  she  was 
cheerful  and  beautiful,  and  apparently  in  perfect 
health.  After  her  return,  however,  new  responsibili- 
ties and  cares  became  hers,  and  under  the  burden, 
too  severe  for  her  sensitive  nature  to  endure,  her 
health  gave  way,  and  her  sunny  temperament,  in- 
fluenced by  her  physical  condition,  became  morbid 
and  distressed.  Our  anxious  concern  and  earnest 
inquiries  were  answered  by  her  own  bright  smile, 
and  the  plea  that  rest  would  soon  conquer  her 
cough,    purely   nervous   in    its    nature.     Though    weak- 


60  SEA     MURMURS. 


ened  by  sickness,  and  wearied  by  her  arduous 
duties,  regardless  of  her  own  longings  for  rest,  she 
worked  on  to  the  end,  always  brave,  always  patient, 
always   kind. 

"As  retiring  president  of  its  Alumni  Association, 
it  was  her  duty  to  read  an  address  before  that 
association  at  Pennsylvania  College,  June  19th, 
1878.  Glad  of  an  excuse  which  promised  release 
and  rest,  only  a  little  sooner  than  it  should  other- 
wise come,  she  completed  her  literary  duties  at 
the  seminary  with  eager  haste,  and  went  from 
among  us  at  the  earliest  moment  possible.  A 
sweet  hope  of  rest  in  her  favorite  retreat,  with 
companionship  of  beloved  friends,  lured  her  from  us 
with  a  promise  to  return  in  the  time  when  we 
should   again   assemble   for   the    opening   year." 


<S)xift^ooi. 


DRIFTWOOD 


i^l#FFIE  wrote    few  letters    of   mere    friend- 

P 

m     ship     or     sentiment,    but     many    with 

ISv"^  the  hope  of  gaining  some  good  thing 
for  others  than  herself  She  kept  no  diary 
either — that  form  of  private  record,  in  which 
morbid  minds  are  wont  to  reveal  their 
fancied  workings.  She  preferred  rather  to 
look  "  outward "  to  the  needs  of  other  minds, 
and  "  upward "  for  the  inspiration  which 
comes  from  contemplation  of  the  Great 
Source  of  all  life  and  thought.  Conse- 
quently there  were  few  papers  from  which 
to  gather  a  page  which  would  reveal  the 
peculiar  mode  of  thought  of  her  whose  pen 
w^as    so    ready    to    serve    another,    or    so    slow 


64  DRIFTWOOD. 

in  what  pertained  to  self.  Just  as  they 
were  gathered  from  a  few  chance  letters, 
these    brief    extracts    are    presented  : 

"Fair    Haven,   July  2d.   1875. 

"Dear  L.:  I  think  this  summer  has  been  one 
of  the  pleasantest  in  my  existence.  It  has  had  its 
little  trials,  too,  but  yet  they  have  brought  their 
little  lessons  and  warninos.  thus  showins;  their 
srood.  I  am  so  2:lad  I  have  bu*^  one  more  year  at 
school ;  I  think  it  would  be  impossible  to  leave 
my  sister  to  fight  her  battles  alone  for  another 
year." 

''July   17th. 

•'  You  know  we  must  do  right.  '  for  right's  di- 
vine  sake,'  and  not  for  anv  credit  we  mav  2:et  for 
doing  it.  Do  not  look  at  your  own  faults  too 
much,  but  rather  at  the  Perfect  One,  and  strive 
to    imitate    His   example   more    and    more."' 

••  Pennsylvania   Female    College, 
"November   4ffi,    1875. 
"  The   foregoing   is   pretty   plain    talk,   is    it    not  ? 
But   we   need   plain    talk   these   days ;    and   if  it   cuts, 
it   is    only   a    sign    of     its    truthfulness.       If    it    flies 


DRIFTWOOD.  Go 


bark  with  equal  force,  what  would  you  infer  from 
Pr.  Shephard's  reasoning  last  winter?  Write  me 
a    plain   letter,   too,   please." 

^'-January  4th.  1876. 
"  Does  your  heart  fail  you  once  in  a  while, 
when  you  stop  to  think  of  the  many  little  thino-s 
necessary  to  housekeeping,  but  not  the  proper  things 
for  your  dear  head,  little  woman?  Remember, 
there  is  for  you,  in  your  universe,  a  bright  star 
ahead,  and  I  sincerely  hope  it  may  not  be  lonor 
before  it  burst  on  you  in  all  its  magnificent  bril- 
liancy. Keep  good  heart,  little  woman :  take  all 
your  burdens  to  the  great  Burden-bearer,  and  all 
will   be   well." 

••  Mount  Pleasant,  February  6th,  1877. 
"  I  am  having  a  good  time  from  the  fact  that  I 
am  so  busy.  I  have  no  time  for  '^Jlay.  It  is  all 
earnest  work,  and  I  think  that  is  the  best  thinor 
for  me  under  the  circimistances — I  mean,  with  my 
peculiar  disposition.  I  care  little  for  the  gayeties 
of  life.  I  would  rather  feel  that  I  was  influencing 
some  one  for  good  by  a  quiet  life.  Socrates  said, 
'  Our  friends  value  us  for  the  use  they  can  make 
of  us,'  and  I  believe  it.  I  would  much  rather  be 
valued    for   my   usefulness   than   for   anvthins   else." 


6(^  DRIFTWOOD. 


''March  20th. 
'•  How  sadl}'  we  all  fail  in  doing  our  duty  in 
this  life!  Every  day  is  a  struggle — a  failure — and 
yet  in  some  sense  a  victory;  but  it  is  all  the 
different  strands  twisted  together  that  make  up  the 
thread    of    life. 

"  Better  confide   and   be   deceived, 

A   thousand   times   by   traitorous   foes, 
Than   once   accuse   the   innocent, 
Or  let   suspicion   mar   repose. 

Then  gently   scan  thy  bi-otber   man. 

Still   gentliei',    sister   woman, 
Though   both   may   gang   a   kinnie   wrang  ; 

To  step   aside   is   human.-' 

"  Mount  Pleasant,  June  6th,  1877. 
"  I  have  seen  yonv  friend  at  a  distance,  but 
never  to  speak  to  her.  I  know  that  remark  sounds 
to  you  perfectly  insipid  ;  as  though  j'ou  cared 
whether  I  had  seen  her  at  a  distance  or  close  by. 
You  are  too  much  of  that  opinion  in  regard  to 
many  things.  You  take  too  little  interest  in  the 
common  things.  You  forget  that  these  little  things, 
which  seem  to  you  such  nonsense,  are  the  things 
that    make    up    the     whole     lives     of     one     class    of 


DRIFTWOOD. 


67 


people;  and  in  order  to  reach  that  class,  we  must 
sympathize  with  them,  to  some  extent,  in  all  their 
interests.  Paul  found  it  necessarj^  to  make  himself 
'all  things  to  all  men,'  in  order  to  accomplish  his 
mission.      Please   think   about   this  seriously." 

"  HOLLIDAYSBURG     FeMALE     SeMIXARY, 

"il/ay  28th,  1878. 
"I  wish  I  could  send  aou  a  message  on  the 
breezes  to-day,  instead  of  writing;  but  I  cannot — 
so  here  is  your  message.  I  wonder  if  it  is  as 
beautiful  down  where  3'ou  are  as  it  is  here  ?  A 
moment  since,  while  talking  with  one  of  the  young 
ladies,  who  was  expressing  sorrow  at  having  to  bid 
farewell  to  a  brother  going  South  for  his  health, 
this  thought  came  to  me.  Tell  me  wliat  you  think 
of  it.  We,  of  necessity,  must  do  what  is  placed 
before  us  to  do.  We  all  have  our  likes  and  even 
loves,  and  want  to  gratify  them  to  the  utmost. 
We  And,  at  all  times,  the  satisfying  of  this  want 
is  not  judicious.  Xow,  the  question  is,  would  it 
not  be  better  to  do  only  that  which  is  judicious? 
I  imagine  what  a  part  of  your  reply  will  be.  I 
have  been  learning  some  valuable  lessons  this  school 
year.      One    of    them    is,    that     I    must    watch    more 


68  DRIFTWOOD. 


carefully  that  little  member  which  a  good  man  once 
called  'unruly.'  Another  is  a  sad  one — that  they 
who  can  be  trusted  are  few  and  ftir  between.  The 
latter  was  a  much  needed  lesson  with  me.  I 
thought  all  who  were  pleasant,  and  seemed  to  be 
true  from  their  sayiugs,  might  be  trusted.  That 
has  all  been  dispelled.  I  grant  that  just  now  I 
feel  hardened  toward  all  humanity,  and  am  ready 
to  suspect ;  but  I  recognize  this  as  an  evil,  and  am 
trjdng   to  overcome   it." 

'-March  18th. 
"Again,  the  old  question,  '  Is  there  any  life 
which  is  not  hard  ?'  Also,  '  Is  there  any  pathway 
down  here  which  has  not  roses  and  sunshine  scat- 
tered along,  if  we  will  only  think  so  ? '  You  ask  me 
for  my  idea  of  life.  A  very  short  definition  would 
be,  to  obey  the  Grolden  Rule.  I  think,  if  one  will 
do  with  all  his  might  what  he  has  to  do  in  this 
world,  accepting  what  may  come  as  all  right  and 
good,  he  will  have  fulfilled  his  mission.  I  think  it 
is  the  bounden  duty  of  ever3^  one,  to  do  all  the 
good  possible  in  this  world,  no  matter  with  what  sac- 
rifice to  himself.  Then  the  rest  may  be  covered 
by  the  two  great  words  of  the  New  Testament — 
Ijove   and    Charity." 


DRIFTWOOD.  69 


"■Ajoril  2d. 
"•  I  like  your  idea  of  making  obstacles  that  ap- 
pear in  the  pathway  of  life,  to  aid  us  in  working 
out  its  great  problems.  I  had  not  thought  of  it 
so  before.  This  life  is  a  constant  warfare  with 
ourselves,  and,  of  course,  the  greater  the  obstacles 
overcome,  the  greater  the  succeeding  joy — '  To  him 
that   overcometh   will    I    give   a   crowu    of    life.' " 

^'-February  19th. 
"  1  do  not  know  what  I  think.  Whether  sin 
committed  in  ignorance  is  sin  or  no,  leads  me  out 
into  such  a  mazy,  hazy  region  of  calm  unknown, 
that  I  am  afraid  ever  to  venture  there,  for  fear  I 
will  not  be  able  to  get  on  to  terra  firma  again.  I 
think  there  are  some  things  in  this  world  (of 
course,  things  that  we  do  not  understand)  that  we 
had  better  trust  to  an  All-wise  God  to  take  care 
of.  And  yet,  if  we  make  no  effort  to  undei'stand, 
what  then 't  If  we  make  an  effort,  and  by  so 
doing   lose   what   we   have,   what   then?" 

'"''January   23d. 
"  I   am   A-ery   much      obliged    for    both    the    paper 
and   book.      I   had  read  the  sermon  in  the   latter,  on 
'  Theatres,'   before   the  receipt   of  your  note,  but  had 


■•^0  DRIFTWOOD. 


concluded,   from   subjects    and    appearances,   that    the 
others    might    remain    untouched     till     I    could    read 
them    and     give     them     some     time.       However,    the 
view    of    theatre-going     I      ratiier     like.       I    entirely 
agree   with   the   author   in    this— that   we    are   apt    to 
accept   things   as   traditions   from   the    elders,    and   to 
stand   off    from   them   with   dread,    not   knowing  what 
we   fear;    while    it   is   our  duty   to   march    boldly   up 
to   the    popular    society    evils    of    the    day,   and    find 
out   what    is    bad    and    what    good    in    them.       Half 
the    people     who     denounce    theatres,     card     playing, 
dancing,   billiards,   etc.,   know   nothing   of  what   these 
things   are,   but    because    they    have    been    told   they 
are   wicked,    that    is    all-sufficient    to    settle    what    is 
their   Christian   duty." 

''May  7th. 
"  Only  six  weeks  to-morrow  till  our  regular 
school-work  for  this  year  ends.  I  am  sorry  the 
work  will  be  done,  but  not  sorry  to  get  away.  I 
do  not  think  it  good  for  people  to  stay  too  long  in 
one  place.  I  know  Ruskin  regards  that  as  a  fearful 
weakness.  I  am  sorry  it  abounds  so  largely  in  my 
make  up.  Yet,  if  I  should  return  to  this  place 
ill  the  fall,  I  will  be  just  as  glad  to  return.  All 
I  want   now   is   a   change   for   a   little." 


DRIFTWOOD.  71 


''May  27th. 
"  This  afternoon,  delicious  balm}^  breezes  are  fan- 
ning us  on  all  sides,  and  beautiful,  little  fleecy 
clouds  in  the  sky  cast  their  shadows  in  such  a  way 
as  to  carry  one  into  the  land  of  dreams.  Do  3^ou 
not  think  there  is  something  intoxicating  in  the 
spring  and  fall  months?  I  mean  something  that 
causes  the  hands  to  lie  idly  in  the  lap,  and 
phantoms  of  beautiful  things  to  flit  across  the 
brain.  I  have  been  learning  one  or  two  of  life's 
lessons  in  the  last  few  weeks.  Oh,  what  a  teacher 
experience  is !  Our  lessons  are  put  before  us  in  a 
way  that  almost  seems  cruel — and  it  may  be, 
hardens  us;  but  Time  shows  us  things  diflerently, 
and  we  wonder  at  our  foi'mer  feelings.  I  have 
always  trusted  people  too  entirely,  forgetting  that 
they  might  sa}^  one  thing  and  do  another.  It  is 
hard  either  to  have  to  say  or  think  that  we  cannot 
trust  our  fellow-men.  I  am  much  afraid  that  just 
now  I  am  inclined  to  be  very  harsh  and  severe  on 
ever}'^  one.  I  think  at  times  I  hardly  have  charity 
for  the  common  weaknesses  of  humanity.  Now  it 
will  be  a  struggle  to  overcome  this.  Oh,  for  a 
power  to  guard  the  tongue  in  a  boarding  school, 
or   anywhere   else    for   that   matter. 


72  DRIFTWOOD. 


"I  read  a  chapter  yesterday  in  'Words,  their 
Use  and  Abuse.'  It  was  on  'Morality  of  Words.' 
I  enjoyed  the  whole  chapter  very  much.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  altogether  agree  with  the  idea 
that  'a  man's  language  is  a  part  of  his  character; 
that  the  words  he  uses  are  an  index  to  his  mind 
and  heart.'  I  think  we  more  frequently  than  reveal, 
conceal  what  is  in  our  hearts,  by  the  words  we 
use.  I  think  it  is  a  life-study  with  most  peoi^le 
to  make  their  words  express  just  the  opposite  of 
what  they  feel.  I  agree  with  him,  however,  that 
it  is  in  the  idioms  of  a  people  that  its  distinctive 
genius  is  most  striliingl}'^  seen.  Now  do  you  think 
I  am  inconsistent?  I  believe  genius  expresses  itself 
in  plain  terms,  but  genius  is  not  confined  to  the 
heart.  So  that  the  usual  words  used  by  a  class 
may  determine  the  bent  of  that  class,  but  it  is 
the  words  of  a  single  individual  that  ni}^  former 
words   were   of. 

"  I  think  Mathews  always  ends  his  chapters  beau- 
tifully. He  seems  to  reserve  his  best  expressions 
till   the    last,   and    then    to    group    them    all    at    the 


end. 


-tMLMIIDMM^^t-^ 


READ   BEFORE   THE 

^lumni  of  Pennsylvania  pollege, 


June  19th,  1878. 


Friends  :  For  your  kindness  in  trusting  to  me 
this  office  during  the  year  just  past,  I  now,  as  I 
leave  it,  thank  you  most  heartil3\  We  are  scattered 
far  and  wide,  and  it  is  only  in  our  annual  meetings 
of  this  kind,  that  we  have  a  common  sympath}'-. 
Yet  to  all,  the  strange  and  known  alike,  I  would 
tender  my  thanks,  and  wish  my  successor  the  same 
kind  welcome  I  received  on  coming  to  this  chair. 
Pardon  me,  if  I  say  a  few  words  aside  from  the 
formal   address. 

John  Tyndall  says,  "existence  is  a  great  key- 
board, with  black  and  white  keys,  and  it  is  ours  to 
study  this  keyboard."  John  Tyndall  looks  through 
the  narrow  medium  of  one  science — ^Philosophy.     Let 


74  DRIFTWOOD. 

us  take  this  same  figure  and  view  it  through  that 
broader  medium  which  embraces  all  sciences.  Ex- 
istence is  a  keyboard  placed  before  us,  from  which 
we  are  to  bring  forth  the  great  symphony  of  life. 
Some  of  us  have  only  a  few  notes  at  our  com- 
mand, but  these  few,  if  used  well,  may  send  music 
through  the  ages,  carrying  comfort  to  many  a  sad 
heart.  Others  have  nearly  the  whole  keyboard. 
One  note  is  struck  here,  and  another  there.  One 
moment,  the  deep  bass  notes  send  forth  their 
sounds;  at  another,  the  high  treble  notes.  Now 
they  ■  are  mingled  together.  By  striking  one  note 
at  a  time,  sound  alone  is  produced.  Using  them 
together,  they  form  a  harmony.  Ah!  how  like  life. 
Now  clouds  cover  the  sky,  and  the  deep,  dark 
troubles  of  life  surround  us.  Almost  lost  in  this 
sea  of  darkness,  we  notice  not  the  small  rift  in 
the  clouds  yonder.  Suddenl}^  we  are  surrounded 
by  the  glorious  sunshine,  and  light  treble  notes  of 
pleasure  greet  us.  We  wonder,  in  our  sudden  joy, 
at  the  despondency  just  past.  But,  lo!  in  time, 
we  see  our  joy  must  be  as  brief  as  our  sorrow. 
In  childhood,  we  have  the  notes  mingled  in  quick 
succession.  A  little  trouble,  probablj'  imaginary, 
the  next  moment  a  joy.     As  years  go  on,  we  realize 


DRIFTWOOD.  75 

the  bass  notes  to  be  pvolonging  their  sounds,  as 
they  teach  the  deep  truths  of  life;  and  joj^s,  too, 
which   follow,  are   of  longer   duration. 

Time  goes  on  thus  till  the  finale  comes ;  then 
we  realize,  in  its  fullest  extent,  the  glory  of  this 
great  symphony  of  life.  We  see  how  the  deep 
notes  of  life  trials  and  the  treble  notes  of  life 
pleasures  have  been  mingled  together  to  form  one 
beautiful  harmony.  While  either  the  one  or  the 
other  was  sounding,  we  saw  not  the  beauty.  Now, 
when  we  hear  them  mingled,  the  grandeur  shines 
forth.  Permit  me  here  to  quote  some  sentences 
from  one  whom,  in  the  last  three  years,  we  have 
learned   to   love: 

"Standing  on  the  threshold  of  life,  what  more 
ennobling  thought  can  I  suggest  as  the  theme  of 
your  devotion,  than  the  beautiful  prayer  of  the 
sweet   Psalmist,  which   you   have   often   sung: 

'"O   God  of  grace, 
Henceforth  to   Thee, 
My  life   shall   be 
A  hymn  of  praise.' 

Let    the    soul,    purified    by    the     power     of    atoning 
blood,   and   attuned  to   the  praise   of  divine  grace,  be 


76  DRIFTWOOD. 


brought  to  feel  the  bliss  of  true  devotion,  and  then 
it  shall  become  the  orchestra  of  the  Divine  Spirit, 
where  all  the  faculties  and  affections  of  the  soul 
shall  unite  in  the  chorus  of  'Holiness  to  the  Lord.'" 
Our  duty,  then,  as  individuals,  plainly,  is  to 
make  the  life  such  that,  in  the  end,  the  symphony 
may  go  up  as  one  grand  hymn  of  praise  to  Him 
who  has  given  us  opportunity  to  make  our  lives 
grand,  if  we  will.  We  know  there  is  no  perfec- 
tion here,  but  some  of  us  possess  capabilities  to 
overcome  all  obstacles  so  much  better  than  others. 
If  one  strike  a  wrong  key,  it  is  our  work  to  show 
him  his  mistake,  and  lead  him  to  the  right  again. 
Ah  I  that  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  life.  B}^  helping 
others,  we  leani  ourselves.  This  world  is  beautiful, 
if  we  will  only  see  it  so.  Flowers  and  sunshine 
are  all  around.  If  the  clouds  surroimd  you,  the 
sun  is  shining  for  some  one  else,  and  whj^  not  try 
to  get  near  enough  to  this  sunshine  to  feel  its 
warm  rays,  and  then  the  coldness  of  our  own 
hearts  will  be  dispelled.  Gather  these  flowers  by 
the  way-side.  If  they  are  too  many  for  you,  it 
will  not  be  hard  to  find  some  one  who  has  not 
been  so  blessed,  and  who  will  bless  you  for  your 
gift. 


DRIFTWOOD.  77 

To    3^ou,    my    young    friends,    I    would    extend    a 

word    of    welcome    before     closing.       We    know    not 

how   long   we   may   be   a    band,   but   so    long   as   you 

remain   with    us,   be  assured  of  our  hearty  friendship, 

and   it   will  attend  you  wherever  you  are.      We  know 

you    go    forth    with    kindest    remembrances    of   your 

Alma   Mater,  and   those   who    have   helped   you   while 

here   to    be   able   to   discern  better  between  the  rouo-h 

and   smooth    places   on    life's   road.      Pay   good   heed 

to    what    they    have    said.       If    not     now,    you    will 

some   day   realize   that   they   have  been  over  the  road 

before    you,    and     know     the     way     the     best.       Our 

motto     I     ask     you     to     remember— "  t-m     trita^    via 

tuta:'>      Again    we    welcome   you,  and    wish  you   good 

cheer,  both  here  and  far  away. 

May  this  College  long  prosper,  and  be  a  blessing 
to  all  who  come  within  its  walls,  is  my  most  heart- 
felt wish,  and  no  doubt  it  is  but  an  echo  of  what 
is   in   the    hearts   of  all   of  you. 


(^ecafmel)+ 


BECALMED. 


"A    WOMAN,   tall    and   as     fresh    as    a    lil.y    which 
has  just    sprung   out   of    the    wave.      She   is   at    once 
passionate   and   innocent,   strong    and    delicate.      Her 
manners     grow     on     her     like     leaves     upon    a    tree. 
They    are    beautiful,  and     thej^    are    her    own.       Her 
smiles    and    her    frowns,  her   laughter   and   her   tears, 
have   all   long   roots.      They   live   down   in   the  depth 
of    her    heart.       She    is    tender,    yet    she    can    resist 
unto   death.      Night   and    morning    meet   in    her   hair 
and   in   her   eyes;    you    would    never    know,   till   you 
had   listened   to   her,   how   many   tones   a  sweet   voice 
can   possess,   yet    be    always    sweet.      She    is    simple 
but  proud  ;  and,  while  you  would   confidently   demand 
of    her     any    charitable     service,    you     would     never 
venture   to   touch   her    hand    unless    she    first   ottered 
it   to   you.      Neither   would    she    offer  it  lightly.     She 
does   not    assume    to    be    intellectual,    yet    her    clear 


82  BECALMED. 


thought  would  find  and  select  truth  amid  a  cloud 
of  surrounding  errors.  A  perfect  woman,  in  short, 
who  knows  that  the  ideal  of  the  Creator  must  be 
fairer  than  the  ideal  of  fashion,  and  that  she  can- 
not  gain    by    imitating   any    artificial  perfection." 


^§^RUE     of     her    were     the    Avords,     as    if 


Effie  herself  had  sat  for  the  picture. 
^H^'®'  She  seemed  so  wonderfully  prepared 
to  live,  and  if  "  the  gate  that  leads  out  of 
this  life  be  but  the  gate  that  leads  up  to 
the  real  and  true,  for  which  immortal  spirits 
are  created,"  then  was  she  wonderfully  pre- 
pared   for    a    better    life    than    this. 

Low  ran  the  tide  of  life ;  but  hope  and 
pleasure  quickened  its  flow.  When  joined  by 
her  sister,  they  proceeded  to  the  home  in 
Allegheny,  which  open  doors  and  hearts  had 
made  a  place  of  refuge  for  each — a  meeting 
place  and  a  place  of  rest  in  the  late  years. 
There  was  much  to  be  done — friends  to  be 
looked   after,  writing  and  planning  with  refer- 


IJECALMED.  83 

encc  to  the  future.  The  days  were  of  intense 
heat,  but  Effie  plead  not  this  excuse,  and 
her  feet  dragged  wearily  as  she  persistently 
went  from  day  to  day,  under  the  sun's 
scorching  rays,  on  what  she  deemed  her 
errands  of  duty.  Nature  at  length  enforced 
her  claims.  Up  through  the  lips  the  red 
tide  forced  itself — once — twice — thrice — ten 
times,  then  ebbed,  and  the  physical  pros- 
tration which  followed  was  utter  and  com- 
plete. 

Friends  from  a  distance  were  summoned 
by  telegraph,  and  the  sick  one  lay  so  white 
and  listless,  so  regardless  of  her  surround- 
ings, that  she  seemed  very  far  from  earth 
and    very    near    the    spirit   land. 

Three  weeks  passed,  and  she  had  regained 
feebly  her  hold  upon  life.  During  these 
weeks,  all  things  spoke  a  beautiful  language 
to  the  invalid's  heart.  The  flowers,  which 
she  so  loved,  were  brought  daily  to  her 
bedside ;     choicest    china   brightened    the    tray 


84  BECALMED. 


whicli  carried  her  dainty  meals ;  books,  let- 
ters, kind  remembrances  from  friends,  brought 
to  her  daily  evidence  of  love  and  thought 
— a  reminder  of  that  greater  love  which 
brings    to   earth    "  peace,    good-will    to    men." 

Another  week,  and  Effie  sat  a  while  in 
her  chair  each  day,  at  length  assumed  her 
clothing,  with  all  its  nicety  of  detail,  and 
again  appeared  below.  Her  return  to  the 
ways  of  life  was  like  the  breaking  forth  of 
the  sun  after  a,  terrible  storm,  and  it  seemed 
that  the  storm  had  carried  from  her  every 
.weight  and  depression — so  happy  and  light 
of  heart  she  seemed.  Yet  with  what  jealous 
care  we  watched  her  every  step,  lest  she 
should   overreach   her   small  stock  of   strength. 

In  another  week,  it  was  deemed  safe  to 
remove  her  to  the  home  of  a  friend  high 
up  on  the  Allegheny  hills,  free  from  the 
noise  and  dust  of  the  city.  Here,  too, 
she  found  that  loving,  thoughtful  care,  so 
grateful    to    the    helpless.      Her    strength    did 


BECALMED.  85 

not  increase,  however,  and  she  had  frequent 
attacks    of    extreme    suffering. 

The  lovely  autumn  came.  She  sat  some- 
times on  the  piazza  in  the  soft  sunlight,  or 
in  the  little  parlor,  where  the  firelight 
gleamed  and  glistened,  instead  of  the  sun- 
shine. Her  weak  voice  took  its  part  in 
the  evening  song,  while  her  fingers  played 
a  soft  accompaniment.  Her  cheerful  words 
and  story  had  their  place  in  the  daily  con- 
verse   of    her    sprightly    friends. 

The  sky  grew  heavy  with  the  autumn 
mists,  the  leaves  ripened  and  fell,  yet  in 
the  invalid  we  saw  no  evidence  >  of  change 
for  the  better  from  day  to  day ;  she  grew 
restless,  longing,  as  she  did,  through  the 
uncertain  days,  for  activity  and  progress. 
The  effect  of  change  was  tried  in  a  few 
days'  sojourn  with  a  school-friend  and  class- 
mate living  at  the  East  End.  The  change 
availed  not — a  slight  cold,  taken  unavoida- 
bly,   added    strength    to    the    wearing    cough, 


86  BECALMED. 


and  fuel  to  the  slow  fever  which  burned 
within.  Sad  news  came,  too,  to  the  young 
ladies  of  the  house :  beautiful  Mary  Brown, 
a  classmate,  gifted,  brilliant,  whose  life  had 
been  one  bright  holiday,  after  a  short 
week's  illness,  had  gone  to  her  long  home. 
They  might  not  keep  the  fact  from  Effie, 
so  they  told  her  gently,  and  the  words 
went  to  her  heart  like  a  barbed  arrow. 
"  Mary  dead !  Her  to  whom  length  of  life 
had  seemed  so  sure.  Why  not  Effie?  Why 
should  she  linger  through  months,  perhaps 
years,    of    uncertainty  ?" 

We  carried  her  back  to  the  home  on  the 
hill,  and  soon  after  to  pleasant  quarters  in 
the  city  below,  where  she  should  be  ready 
of  access  to  friends  and  physician  through 
the  trying  winter  months  now  approaching. 
For  some  time  after  her  removal,  she  was 
wont  to  go  down  to  one  meal  daily,  that 
the  sight  of  pleasant  faces,  and  that  the 
variety    thus    afforded,    might    help    to    cheer 


BECALMED.  87 


her ;  but  the  feeble  hmbs  refused  longer  to 
carry  her  weight  up  the  stairway,  and  her 
world,  thus  narrowed  to  the  outlook  of  two 
east  windows,  promised  little  for  the  in- 
validism now  inevitable.  There  remained 
but    one   hope : 

The     genial     climate     of    Western     Texas, 
making    life    in    the    open    air    there    a   possi- 
bility   and    a    delight,    had    brought    to    many 
wan   health    seekers   in   the  past,  healing  and 
restoration.       It    was     deemed     possible    that 
its   pure,  dry    air    and   warm    sunshine    might 
also    act   as    a    restorer   in    the    present    case ; 
and   so,    after     careful     consultation    of    physi- 
cians   and    friends,    it    was    decided    that    the 
feeble      Effie      should     be      carried      to      San 
Antonio.       No    wonder    that    hope    rekindled 
in   her  eye,  and  determination  again  assumed 
sway   in   the    discouraged   heart. 

The  twenty-fifth  day  of  November,  her 
twenty-second  birthday,  was  to  our  Efiie  a 
day    of    high  expectation.       During  the  day  a 


gg  BECALMED. 

number     of      beautiful     remembrances,      from 
friends  who  had  not  forgotten  the  anniversary, 
made   her   heart   glad.     In    the    evening  there 
came    a    box    of    pure    white   rosebuds.     With 
trembling   fingers,   she  arranged  them   in   tiny 
bouquets,  and    sent    one    to    each    lady  in  the 
household,  as  a  farewell  token,  requesting  that 
there    should   be    no    formal    adieus.      During 
that  last  evening  in  Allegheny,  her  eyes  grew 
brilliant    and   her   cheeks  flushed   as,   with  an 
animation    unknown    for    weeks,    she     chatted 
its   hours    away. 

It  passed,  and  we — three  in  number — were 
started  on  the  long  way  to  the  southland. 
The  invalid  slept  that  night,  the  quiet, 
almost  death-like  sleep  coming  of  beautiful 
hope,  mingled  with  utter  physical  exhaus- 
tion. While  it  was  yet  dark,  at  Columbus, 
Ohio,  whither,  being  apprised  of  her  coming, 
he  had  repaired,  the  father  of  her  childhood 
boarded  the  train  with  eager  haste,  that  he 
might   once    more    look    into    the    face    of    a 


BECALMED.  89 


loved  child,  the  promise  of  whose  future 
had  been  to  Iiim  as  the  bow  in  the  cloud. 
A  few  hurried  moments,  in  which  to  hold 
the  fevered  hands,  press  the  sweet  lips,  and 
breathe  the  fervent  blessing,  were  all  the 
brief  stoppage  of  the  train  permitted,  and 
with  heart  and  eyes  overflowing,  the  kind 
old    man   left    the    car. 

A  weary  day's  ride  found  us,  at  its  close, 
in  the  midst  of  darkness  and  rain,  at  St. 
Louis;  but  kind  friends  were  in  waiting 
with  every  comfort  for  the  sick  one.  Borne 
in  strong  arms  to  the  carriage,  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  storm  till  safely  housed 
amid  light,  and  warmth,  and  pleasant  faces. 
A  night's  rest  brought  fresh  hope,  and 
visions  of  the  promised  land.  Morning  started 
us  afresh  on  the  Iron  Mountain  Railroad. 
Travel  in  a  palace  car,  with  pleasant  com- 
pany and  ready  attendants,  is  scarcely  less 
comfortable  than  resting  in  one's  quiet 
drawing    room     at    home ;     yet    riding    hours 


90  BECALMED. 


and  days  through  a  country  stretching  aAvay 
into  unending  miles  of  dreariness  and  same- 
ness, the  end  seemed  afar.  But  the  grate- 
ful green  of  the  pines  as  they  appeared — 
at  first  as  a  low  undergrowth,  then  as  tall, 
continuous  forests — gave  a  pleasant  greeting 
to  our  weary  eyes,  and  their  sweet  breath, 
wafted  through  the  open  windows,  whispered 
of  nearing  spring-time.  Glad  were  we  then, 
when,  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day, 
Texas  was  announced. 

Some  time  before  this  pleasant  announce- 
ment, one  of  our  number  had  stated  to  a 
friend,  who  had  been  of  the  party  from  St. 
Louis,  that  her  niece  would  prefer  a  rosebud 
to  a  new  silk  dress.  With  ready  polite- 
ness, he  declared  her  preference  should  be 
gratified  the  moment  we  crossed  the  border. 
At  Texarkana,  where  three  States  meet — the 
car  awaiting  transfer  to  another  road — he 
disappeared,  returning  soon,  laden  with  fra- 
grant   treasures — rosebuds,    on     whose     petals 


BECALMED.  91 


the  night  dew  lay  yet  fresh  and  sparkling; 
violets — spring  violets  in  November — pure 
white  buds  there  were,  creamy  yellow,  orange 
tinted,  dainty  sea-shell  pink,  buds  with  sun- 
set hues,  and  crimson  in  different  degrees 
of  depth — such  hues  as  northern  sunlight 
never  painted,  and  northern  eyes  never 
looked    upon    before. 

What  happiness  the  sweet  flowers  brought 
with  them !  The  sick  girl  held  them  long 
in  her  lap,  as  she  lay  on  her  pillowed  couch. 
She  thrust  her  slender  finger  tips  into  their 
hearts,  to  find  what  new  depths  of  color 
and  fragrance  might  lie  there  hidden.  She 
counted  them  over  and  over,  guarding  each 
with  jealous  care.  Finally  the  miscellaneous 
glasses  of  the  lunch  basket  were  called  into 
requisition,  to  keep  fresh  and  beautiful  these 
fair  buds,  and  their  beauty  called  many 
smiles  of  pleasure  to  the  weary  faces  of 
fellow-travelers. 


92  BECALMED. 


Another  day,  through  stretches  of  pine, 
through  country  wild  and  primitive,  few 
traces  of  inhabitants  save  at  the  strange- 
looking  villages,  and  the  evening  brought 
to  view  Houston,  our  resting  place  for  the 
night.  Morning  dawned  brightly,  and 
brought  with  it  to  the  hotel  our  friend  in 
need  of  the  previous  evening,  a  tall 
Englishman,  who  came  with  his  offering  of 
beautiful  flowers,  plucked  fresh  from  his  own 
garden,    for    the    invalid. 

Houston,  with  its  low,  white  houses, 
embowered  in  trees  and  gorgeous  flower 
gardens,  formed  a  pretty,  passing  picture,  as 
we  drove  through  its  streets  and  were  once 
more  started  on  the  Sun-Set  Route.  It 
was  the  last  change.  Only  two  hundred 
miles  to  the  end — to  our  waiting  hearts  a 
land  of  rest  and  promise.  Soon  the  great, 
glorious  plains  of  Texas  were  spread  out  to 
our   view.     No  fences  or  trace  of  man's  small 


BECALMED.  93 


handiwork  marred  the  scene.  Immense  herds 
of  wild  cattle  grazed  here  and  there. 
Clumps  of  the  live  oak,  with  its  vivid 
green,  relieved  the  vast  expanse.  Far 
beyond,  dark  forests  outlined  against  the 
sky,  which,  to  unaccustomed  eyes,  seemed 
immeasurably    removed. 

Every  mile  of  the  day's  journey  had  been 
enjoyed  by  the  sick  girl.  The  bearded 
trees  were  a  novel  sight.  At  one  point, 
a  quantity  of  the  trailing  moss  was  dis- 
lodged and  passed  through  the  open  car 
window,  where,  with  ready  fingers,  it  was 
draped  and  festooned.  Night  approaching, 
the  drawing  room  car  was  lighted,  and 
made  to  appear  like  a  pleasant  sitting  room, 
its  occupants  drawn  together  by  the  inci- 
dents   of    the    past    day. 

At  length  the  journey  was  accomplished, 
and  with  our  weary  invalid,  we  rested  in 
the  quaint  old  Spanish  town  of  San  Antonio. 


@nc^orel)» 


ANCHORED 


'A    tone   like   the    dream   of   a   song    we   once   heard, 
And   she    whispered,   '  This   way   is   not    Heaven's. 
For   the    river   that   runs   bj^  the  realms  of  the  blest 
Has   no    song   on    its   ripple,   no    star   on    its  breast; 
Oh !    That   river   is   nothino-   like    this, 

O  7 

For  it  glides  on  in  shadow  beyond  the  world's  west, 
Till   it   breaks   into   beauty   and   bliss,' " 

NEW  world !  A  new  spring-time ! 
Air  which  it  was  a  delight  to 
-  #^^^  breathe,  and  skies  of  intensest  blue, 
undimmed  by  smoke  or  cloud.  The  sun 
does  not  "  set "  in  San  Antonio.  It  "  goes 
down "  like  a  flash,  omitting  the  soft,  gray 
gloaming  of  our  northern  twilight,  and 
leaving  you  to  wonder — Avhile  from  the 
great     bank     of    light — purple,    and     golden, 


98  ANCHORED. 


and      pink — encircling  the      horizon,     there 

ascends    a    faint    rosy  mist,    spreading    itself 

like  a  filmy  vail  over  all  the  blue  concave. 
Then — 

"  Silently,   one    by    one,   in    the   infinite    meadows    of 
Heaven, 
BlossoTBcd    the    lovel}'    stars,   the    foi-get-me-uots    of 
the   angels," — 

and  you  are  enraptured  with  the  southern 
sky    in    its    star-lit  •  glory. 

Change  is  a  wonderful  renewer  of  mental 
and  physical  powers.  It  throws  the  mind 
into  new  elements,  causing  it  to  forget  its 
accustomed  broodings.  The  eye  is  filled 
with  new  sights,  the  ear  witli  new  sounds, 
and  the  attention  follows  new  lines  of 
thought    suggested    by    the    same. 

The  ancient  town  offered  all  these  to  the 
young  stranger.  She  was  revived — walked 
feebly  out  into  the  yard  to  breathe  in  the 
healing    air — was     driven     out    to    the    park, 


ANCHORED.  99 

and  to  the  beautiful  private  grounds  where 
spring  the  headwaters  of  the  river  San 
Antonio.  How  bright  were  her  eyes,  how 
quaint  her  spoken  fancies,  and  how  full  of 
promise  the  many  plans  she  made  for  the 
time  when  she  should  be  better  and  return  to 
the  northland.  It  seemed  that  she  might 
yet  tread  firmly  the  highway  of  life,  and 
busy  her  waiting  hands  and  brain  with  its 
noble    duties. 

They  tell  us  humanity  is  depraved.  In 
the  light  of  the  sacred  declaration,  and 
from  its  own  frequent  developments,  we  are 
compelled  so  to  believe.  But  in  the  light 
of  experience,  we  cling  to  the  belief  that, 
in  the  heart  of  mankind,  there  lingers  a 
latent  germ  of  the  divine  nature  which  was 
his  in  Paradise.  We  were  strangers  in  a 
distant  city.  There  were  those  in  the 
house  from  all  parts,  in  search  of  pleasure, 
health  or  profit.  There  was  no  tie  draw- 
ing   them     to    the    newly    arrived,    save    that 


100  ANCHORED. 


of  a  common  humanity.  But  looking  into 
the  pale  face  and  soul-lit  eyes  of  the  young 
stranger,  and  listening  to  her  words,  their 
hearts  were  won.  And  through  all  the 
weary  days  of  our  sojourn,  we  found  them 
ever  the  same.  With  willing  feet  and 
ready  hands,  they  awaited.  .  Words  of  cheer 
were  on  their  lips.  We  shall  love  to 
remember  those  gentle,  loving  women,  and 
brave,  tender-hearted  men.  They  shall  be 
clothed  with  a  mantle  of  ideal  beauty  and 
perfection,  and,  with  remembrance,  will  come 
the  thought  of  a  divine  nature,  underlying 
the  human,  which  shall  cause  us  to  think 
better    of    our   kind. 

Dear  Effie's  love  for  the  sweet  flowers 
was  soon  understood,  and  her  room  was 
thenceforth  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  the 
violets,   first    messengers    of    spring. 

On  the  day  preceding  Christmas,  she  was 
driven  out  for  the  last  time  over  the  smooth, 
open   prairie,    where    she    found    such    delight 


ANCHORED.  101 

in  gazing  into  the  sky  and  over  tli(^  plain. 
No  landmark,  no  trace  of  habitation  broke 
the  wide  stretch  of  country  gently  rising  to 
meet  the  great  concave  above,  and  the  view 
seemed  to  bring  to  her  weary  mind  a  sense 
of    freedom,    and    rest,    and    infinity. 

They  had  told  her — these  new  friends — of 
a  time  when  the  land  should  wear  a  carpet 
of  flowers,  the  air  be  laden  with  rich  per- 
fume, the  city  a  wilderness  of  roses — fair 
as  a  garden  of  the  Lord.  And  now  their 
promises  began  to  be  realized — but  the 
invalid  was  unable  to  leave  her  couch. 
Her  eyes  thus  never  looked  upon  the 
glorious  spring-time  out  in  nature.,  but  each 
morning  brought  to  her  room  sweet  offerings 
from  the  outside  world.  The  first  pale  peach 
blossoms  bloomed  in  her  window,  and  flowers 
were  everywhere,  that  the  eyes  of  the  sick 
girl  might  rest  upon  them.  But  the  roses 
bloomed  not  yet.  Twice  we  wheeled  her 
light   bed    through    the   open   doors,   out  upon 


2Q2  ANCHORED. 


the  wide,  sunny  gallery;  but  she  saw  only 
the  springing  grass  and  the  weeping  willows, 
first  of  the  trees  to  assume  the  tender 
o-reen.        Her    eyes    beheld    the    green    of   the 

to 

willows—the  emblem  was  fitting.  They  saw 
not  the  bloom  of  the  roses,  w^hich  said  to 
other  eyes,  "In  the  fair  garden  above, 
blooms     the    transplanted    earth-flower,    never 

more    to   fade." 

We  need  not  repeat  the  old,  old  story. 
Sooner  or  later,  the  furnace  of  life  burns 
out,  so  there  remains  naught  now  but  to 
endure  and  to  wait.  As  waned  the  earthly, 
robbed  of  all  its  interest,  stronger  grew  the 
spirit  life  and  light  within.  Not  a  request 
— not  a  word  for  self — but  a  request,  by 
sign,  that  her  daily  offering  of  flowers  might 
be  bestowed  upon  her  attendants — a  whis- 
pered word  for  the  comfort  of  each  one  of 
those  surrounding  her.  A  loving  voice  in- 
quired, "  Do  you  want  anything  now, 
dearie  f      The    eyes    quickly    turned    upward. 


ANCHORED.  103 


and  the  uplifted  finger  pointed  above.  Then 
the  hands  were  gently  folded — the  sun  went 
down — and  the  spirit  of  Effie  McMillan  had 
returned  to  God  who  gave  it. 

******** 

Very  bright  and  beautiful  was  the  great, 
quiet  room  in  which  remained  the  body  of 
our  Effie  for  one  short  week.  The  ministry 
of  lovino-  hands  did  not  cease  with  the 
closing  scene.  Removing  all  that  could 
suffs-est  the  late  reisrn  of  disease  and  suffer- 
ing,  they  hung  upon  the  walls  bright  pictures, 
in  addition  to  those  already  hanging;  these 
they  draped  with  soft,  gray  traiUng  moss, 
while  windows  and  doorways  were  curtained 
with  lace  hangings.  A  few  easy  chairs  sat 
invitingly  about,  and  many  small  tables 
and  stands  stood  as  flower  receptacles.  No 
dark  vail  obscured  the  brightness  of  the 
mirrors.  Little  Major,  the  pretty  canary, 
in  his  gilded  cage,  hung  in  his  accustomed 
window — and    the    place   blossomed  with  roses 


104  ANCHORED. 

and  sweet  flowers,  as  though  a  southern 
garden,  in  all  its  luxuriance,  had  been  trans- 
planted from  gay  sunshine  without  to 
shadowing  walls  within.  Thus  Eflie  would 
have  had  it,  had  she  taken  thought.  Sweet 
and  beautiful,  suggesting  life  and  happiness 
— not    death   and    desolation. 

There,  in  her  closed  casket,  with  its 
crystal  lid,  we  came  many  times  a  day  and 
looked  upon  the  still  face  within,  with  smile 
of    life    upon    it, — 

"Hushed    were  her  lips  iu  death!     but  still  their  pure 
And   beautiful   expression    seem'd    to    melt 
With   love   that   could    not   die  !" — 

and  there  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  liouse 
a  quiet  spell  that  held  its  inmates  very 
near,    for    a    time,    to    the    better    world. 

On  Wednesday,  in  this  upper  room,  the 
friends  who  had  known  our  Eflie  were 
assembled.       In     life,     she     had     often     been 


ANCHORED.  105 


visited  by  two  faithful  servants  of  one  com- 
mon Master,  one  Presbyterian,  the  other 
Episcopal,  in  faith.  For  her  the  service 
of  prayer  and  consolation  were  ended,  but 
there  was  yet  a  lesson  and  a  prayer  for  the 
living.  The  lesson  was  ably  set  forth — the 
petitions  uttered — sweet  hymns  chanted — and 
all    retired    to    their    homes. 

In  days  gone  by,  while  Effie  held  her 
place  among  the  living,  and  her  young 
heart  was  full  of  hope,  there  had  been 
bestowed  upon  her  the  deeply  mature  affec- 
tion of  one  worthy  and  noble,  and  on  the 
marble  finger  of  the  dead  girl  lay,  loosely, 
a  glittering  circlet,  placed  there  by  his  own 
hand,    the    symbol    of    their    plighted    fiiitli. 

On  Friday  night  he  came,  after  four 
weary  days  and  nights  of  travel,  to  find, 
at  the  end,  that  the  spirit  of  the  loved 
one  had  alreadv  wing-ed  its  way  to  the 
"  beautiful  land."  Briefly  the  last  days 
were    recounted    to   him,  and   at   midnight  his 


106  ANCHORED. 


heavy  steps  were  guided  to  the  sacred 
chamber;  unlocking  the  door,  the  light 
shone  from  within — he  entered — they  closed 
the    door,    and   left   him    with    his    dead. 


(0egonb   t^t   ^iU, 


BEYOND    THE   TIDE. 


"Ah,  what  a  gap  is  made  in  the  world  b}' 
the  death  of  those  we  love  I  It  is  no  lonoer  whole, 
but  a  poor  half  world,  that  swings  uneasj'  on  its 
axis,  and  makes  3^011  dizz}-  with  the  clatter  of  yonr 
wreck  !" — Ik.    Marvel. 

"  As   a   fair   maiden,    in   her    Father's   mansion, 
Clothed   with   celestial    grace ; 
And    beautiful    with    all    the   soul's   expansion 
Shall    we   behold    her   face." — Longfellow. 


i^^^HE  morning  of  March  -tth  rose  on 
s^B  ^^^^  Antonio  fair,  cloudless,  beautiful, 
^^m^  and  balmy  as  a  day  in  early  June. 
For  the  bright  spirit  Effie,  there  was  no 
longer  need  that  we  should  take  thought; 
but    it    seemed    fitting    that    the    dear    body 


110  BEYOND     THE     TIDE. 


should  have  its  resting  place  in  far-off 
Pittsburgh.  There,  happy  and  homelike,  had 
been  the  associations  of  her  later  years. 
Back  over  the  long,  weary  road,  to  the 
places  once  so  familiar  to  her  feet — to  the 
home  in  which  she  had  found  friends  so 
tender  and  true — into  the  corner  of  the 
quiet  parlor,  where,  from  among  her  pillows, 
but  a  few  months  since,  she  had  listened 
to  the  kind  words  and  cheering  voices  of 
her  friends — to  this  place  they  carried  her. 
Durinsr  the  Sabbath  and  IMondav  which 
intervened,  friends,  tried  and  true,  came  and 
looked,  not  upon  Effie,  but  upon  a  pale 
shadow,  cold  and  still,  nestled  among  soft 
draperies.  Service  and  interment,  previously 
announced  as  private,  occurred  on  Monday, 
March    Uth. 

A  psalm,  an  invocation,  a  touching  retro- 
spect, an  appeal — then  they  carried  that 
which  had  been  Effie  to  its  resting  place 
in     the     beautiful     Allegheny     Cemetery.     As 


BEYOND     THE     TIDE.  HI 

if  mindful  of  tlie  woe  of  human  hearts, 
and  of  the  summer  land  from  which  had 
but  just  returned  the  hving  with  the  dead, 
bleak  March  abated,  for  a  time,  his  severity, 
and  on  this  day  the  sun  shone  out  in 
brightness  and  beauty,  and  it  was  a  rare 
day   in    the    calendar. 

In    hours    of  deepest   sadness.  Nature   some- 
times   gives   greeting— even  sympathy.     Some- 
times    she     comes     to     us    as    the    voice    of 
God    himself,    speaking    to    us    in    tones    un- 
mistakable.      The    casket   had    been    carefully 
placed   within.       At    the    door    of    the    vault 
stood    the    minister.      In    clear,  distinct    tones, 
he    uttered    the    words    of    the    last     prayer. 
Each     sentence     was     perfect     in    itself,    and 
each    ended    with    a    word    of  power,   "Christ 
—Redeemed— Rest— Life       Immortal."        And 
back    from    the    walls    within    came    the    echo, 
in     tones     as     clear    and     distinct,     "Christ — 
Redeemed— Rest— Life    Immortal."     To    those 
who     heard,    it     seemed     an     assurance     sent 


112  BEYOND      THE      TIDE. 


back  from  the  shores  of  Heaven — the  voice 
of  the  Master,  in  audible  response  to  the 
voice   of    his    servant,    saying,    "  It    is   well," 

Thus,  "  In  the  Morning  of  Life,"  to 
peaceful  rest  they  consigned  the  body  of 
Effie  McMillan,  whilst  upon  her  spirit,  dis- 
enthralled, already  dawned  the  morning  of 
the    Life    Immortal. 


J^foxoete  ftrom  t^t  IXfa^BxUi 


FLOWERS   FROM   THE  WAYSIDE. 


I 


^i^HERE    seems    to    exist,    deep    down    be- 

r  I  ^ 
sMft     neath    the    ordinary    current    of  life,    a 

?§^^ 

'^^^     "  telegraphic    system    of  the    universe," 

by    which    hearts,   widely    apart    in    point    of 

space,     converse     wdth    each     other    in    their 

joys    and    griefs.       This    to    the    annihilation 

of  time    and    space,  and    after    a   while  follow 

the    written    words,    assuring    of    that    which 

has    been    already    felt    and   fully    understood. 

A    sweet    young    life    is    breathed    out    in 

San     Antonio — expectant     friends,    in     places 

hundreds     of    miles    removed,     have     felt    the 

fact,  but    they  await    its    announcement — then 

fall   the    tear-drops,  and    written    words    carry 


116  FLOWERS     FROM      THE      WAYSIDE. 

back  the  true  heart  language.  In  her  pure, 
sweet  Friend's  dialect,  breathes  such  a  heart 
through    the    following    pages : 

"  Xenta,    February   26th,,   1879. 

"  This  day  comes  the  sad  intelligence  of  onr 
dear  Effle's  death — how  hard  to  realize !  I  can 
not  do  so.  O,  how  I  wish  I  conld  speak  some 
word  that  wonld  lighten  this  heav}-  stroke  on' thy 
breaking  heart,  but  I  know  it  is  a  vain  wish. 
How  sensibly  I  feel  that  human  language  is  but  an 
enipt}^  sound  in  such  cases — it  is  only  the  whisper- 
ings of  the  sweet  and  Holy  Spirit  that  can  bring 
solace,   and   heal    or   soothe   the   wound. 

"  M}^  dear  child,  God  only  knows  how  my  heart 
bleeds  for  thee,  and  how  I  yearn  to  fold  thee  to 
my  heart.  Words  utterly  fail  to  express  my  sym- 
pathy, and  we  feel  so  anxious  about  thy  health — 
and    thee    so   far   awa}'. 

"Has  thee  thought  strange  of  me  that  I  did 
not  write  ?  I  was  afraid  to,  lest  dear  Effie  might 
be  called  on  to  read  my  letters ;  for  I  could  not 
write  hopefully  about  her,  and  would  not  have  her 
see  other  than  hopeful  words,  lest  it  might  harm 
her.      Dear     girl !       I     see     her    so    plainly,    as     she 


FLOWERS      FROM      THE      WAYSIDE.  117 

stood  in  her  youth  and  beauty,  with  iier  hand  in 
mine,  previous  to  her  going  East.  So  many  times 
have  I  wished  that  I  could  have  been  permitted  to 
minister  to  her,  for  w^ell  I  know  she  was,  to  the 
last,  lovely  in  all  she  did  and  said,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  her  sweet  spirit  is  amid  perpetual 
joys  in  her  home  prepared  by  her  Lord.  0,  bliss- 
ful thought !  No  sorrow,  no  tears,  no  cold  repulses, 
no  stinging  words — all  of  love  and  joy  is  hers, 
and  how  fitting  it  seems  that  the  beautiful  casket 
that  held  this  lovely  and  priceless  gem  should 
rest   amid   the   flowers    of    the    South. 

"  Xow,  dear  friend,  I  am  anxious  to  hear  from 
thee,  both  on  account  of  dear  Eftie's  sickness  and 
of  thy  own  health,  and  be  assured  that  all  that 
pei'tains  to  thee  will  greatly  interest  us.  It  is 
almost  needless  for  me  to  say  that  our  hearts  and 
homes  are  open  to  receive  thee  with  the  old  love. 
When  thee  is  able,  and  feels  thee  caji,  write  to  me. 
May  God  take  thee  into  His  great  and  mighty  arms 
of  love,  and  shield  thee  from  the  rude  blasts  of 
this    world,   is   the    earnest   prayer   of 

"  Thy    loving   friend, 

"V.  H." 


118  FLOWERS      FROxM      THE      WAYSIDE. 


Though  detained  far  away  by  imperative 
duty,  thus  earnestly  writes  one  so  faithful 
and    true    to    the    last: 

"Laporte.  February  26th,  1879. 
''  I  know  that  she  has  been  taken  home,  and 
you  are  left  behind — 3^et  not  alone  oi-  comfortless. 
The  darling  child  I  I  covild  not  bear  to  write  as 
though  I  knew  she  must  soon  go  hence,  and  yet  I 
knew  it  full  well — but  0,  not  .•^o  soon  !  How  long- 
suffering  and  nncomplaining  she  was !  Our  great 
comfort  is,  we  did  all  we  could,  if  not  all  we 
wished.  I  wish  you  would  ask  somebod}'  to  write 
to  me — somebod^r  that  saw  all — knew  all.  Did  she 
say  a  word  toward  the  last  for  me  ?  Anj'^  love  ? 
She  could  not  know  how  hard  I  tried  to  serve  her 
— gratify   her   in    every    thing.      It    is   all   over   now. 

"L.  W.  M." 

From  the  Pacific  coast  words  of  pleasant 
retrospection  tell  of  days  agone.  Words  of 
hope  speak  to  those  for  whom  death  is  not 
a  terror,  but  a  passing  out  from  darkness 
into   light : 


FLOWERS      FROM      THE      WAYSIDE.  119 


"San  Francisco,  llarch  11th,  1879. 
"  The  sad  news  reached  us  ou  Saturday,  that 
your  fears  were  soon  realized,  and  that,  on  the 
evening  of  the  daj'  yovw  last  letter  was  written,  our 
dear  Effle  went  home  from  the  midst  of  loving 
friends.  I  felt  almost  glad  to  find,  bj^  the  Xenia 
papers,  that  j-ou  would  remain,  for  a  little  time  at 
least,  among  those  to  whom  you  must  be  tenderly 
attached,  and  to  whom  the  last  months  of  Effie's 
life  are  so  real.  I  was  trying  to  recall,  this  morn- 
ing, what  I  could  of  dear  Effie's  life.  She  was  a 
little  bab}^  when  I  saw  her  first.  I  remember  ver}^ 
well  the  day  she  was  baptized.  When  I  had  been 
away  from  Xenia  for  a  long  time  and  returned, 
after  her  pa,  she  was  the  first  to  meet  me, 
and  while  I  was  at  Mr.  McMillan's,  she  was 
almost  constantly  m}'  companion.  I  used  to  think 
that  she  felt  that  I  was  lonely  and  homesick,  and 
she  tried  all  she  could  to  make  me  happy.  Of 
course,  since  then,  I  have  seen  her  many  times,  but 
only  the  last  can  I  recall  vividly — when  she  was 
attending  school  at  Mount  Auburn.  I  remember  just 
where  she  sat,  and  how  she  looked.  I  think  this 
was  the   last   time.     Lately,  I    have   seen   her  through 


120  FLOWERS      FROM      THE      WAYSIDE. 


you.       I    would    like    so    much     to     have    seen    the 
woman   Effie. 

"  What  a  glorious  hope  ours  is !  Our  friends 
never  die  to  us.  The  very  worst  that  Death  can 
do,  to  those  whom  Christ  claims,  is  to  make  them 
free  and  introduce  them  into  glorj-.  And  for  us 
who  are  left  behind,  another  sting  is  taken  from 
death,  and  another  joy  is  added  to  Heaven.  It  is 
but  a  little  while.  May  God  give  us  grace  to 
live   it   to    His   honor  and    glor3^  L.  W." 

Yet  again  the  heart  of  a  true  friend 
repeats  the  praises  of  the  one  so  earnestly 
beloved : 

^'February  27th. 
"  I  shall  always  remember  how  she  planned  and 
planned  to  do  nice  things  for  you.  She  seemed 
always  to  be  thinking  of  you  the  summer  she  was 
with  me.  Always  loving — always  patient — always 
kind.  Everybody  that  comes  in,  my  dear  old 
father  tells  about  her — how  healthy  she  was — how 
lovely  and  beautiful  she  was,  when  he  and  ma  saw 
her  at  our  house  in  Mount  Pleasant.  I  do  believe 
Effie  was  universally  beloved.     She  was  ever  thought- 


FLOAVERS      FROM      THE      "WAYSIDE.  121 

fill,   kind,    and    good    to    me — better    to    me    than    I 
can    ever  tell,   with  her  tender,  affectionate  sympath3\ 

"L.  W.  M." 

Only  those  who  have  known  deep  sorrow 
can  confidently  approach  a  wounded  spirit, 
speaking  to  it  acceptable  words.  But  one 
who  speaks  from  the  heart's  depths  finds 
ready    admittance : 

"Cherry   Fork,    Ilarch,   1879. 

"  The  same  hand  which  beckoned  to  Effle  to 
come  np  higher,  the  same  loving  arms  which  bore 
her  from  earth  to  Heaven,  are  extended  to  all  His 
children.  Ah,  we  know  so  little  of  Grod^s  ways, 
we  fail  to  comprehend  why  one  so  yonng,  beantiful 
and  useful,  should  be  suddenly  snatched  awav,  just 
as  she  was  entering  upon  an  ennobliiig  career. 
But  our  Father  understands  it  thoroughly.  She 
was  His  own,  and  He  saw  fit  to  trans})lant  the 
immortal  flower  which  had  just  opened  to  that 
'  blessed  land '  where  it  is  '  one  bright  siinimei' 
alway.' 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  have  known  her  aftei'  she 
arrived    at   womanhood.      Fragrant    is    the  n)emory  of 


122  FLOWERS      FROM      THE      WAYSIDE. 


her  childhood  days  to  me.  I  came  across  a  little 
token  of  sympathy  among  some  old  letters  this 
week,  which  she  sent  me  npon  hearing  of  our  dear 
S.'s   death.     It    is    very   sweet.      I    shall    preserve   it. 

"M.  E.  R." 

Grateful    is    the    remembrance   that  contains 

a    record    so    bright    as    that    of    the  following 

words : 

"Clifton,    March   lOlh,   1879.    ^ 
"My    orief    is,   that    I    am   never   to   see    our   pre- 
cious  Effle   again    in    the   flesh.      I    cannot    remember 
one    thing    EfRe    ever    did    that    was    not    true     and 
noble.      I    can   say    Ihu    of    few    others. 

•'  L.  W.  M." 

The  friend  between  whom  and  herself 
existed  the  strongest  attachment,  thus  briefly 
recounts   her    early    schooldays: 

"  Cincinnati,   June^   1879. 
"  1  have  just  returned  home,   after  a  brief  absence 
from    the    city ;    and    find    your    letter,    to    which    I 
hasten     to     reply.       I    was     greatl3'    pained     when    I 


FLOWERS     FROM     THE      WAYSIDE.  123 


learned  of  the  death  of  your  dear  sister  Effie,  for 
during  the  year's  intimate  acquaintance  of  school 
life  which  I  enjoyed  with  her  at  the  Mount  Auburn 
Institute,  I  had  formed  a  high  estimate  of  her  .as 
a   scholar,   as   a   lady,   and   as   a    Christian. 

"  She  was  faithful  and  successful  in  the  discharge 
of  every  school  duty,  and  her  example  and  influence 
ui^on  the  other  scholars  was  very  marked.  Her 
ladjMike  deportment  endeared  her  to  every  one 
and  she  seemed  always  actuated  by  Christian  prin- 
ciples  in    the    conduct   of    her   daily   life. 

"Though  it  was  not  my  good  fortune  to  hear 
from  her  during  her  last  illness,  I  feel  sure  that 
her  trust  in  her  Heavenly  Father  and  her  love  for 
His  Word,  must  have  given  her  every  support  and 
happiness,  they  are  so  calculated  to  afford  the 
Christian. 

"  Her  love  and  thoughtfulness  for  you  was  a 
strong  characteristic  of  Effie's  daily  life.  I  cannot 
doubt  she  will  ever  be  a  ministering  spirit  while 
she  is  waiting  and  watching  for  your  coming  to 
the   Heavenly   home. 

"  Yours,   very   sincerely, 

"H.   Thane   Miller. 
"  Mount   Auburn,   Cincinnati,   0." 


J'foijoer^  from  Qtlemotg. 


FLOWERS    FROM    MEMORY. 


pglftEAUTIFUL  to  us  and  sacred,  are  the 
loving  tributes  of  friends  to  the 
memory  of  our  departed  ones,  whilst 
that  memory  yet  absorbs  the  entire  mental 
being.       Such    are    those    which    follow: 

"I  have,  for  weeks,  been  wishing  to  write  to 
you,  and  to  send  yon  words  of  sympathy.  I  felt 
that  no  words  could  be  of  much  value  to  you, 
but  yet  I  have  wished  to  relieve  a  part  of  my 
own  sorrow,  by  giving  it  some  expression.  Until 
now  I  had  not  learned  in  what  city  or  town  you 
are  making  your  temporary  home.  The  word 
'  home '  must  seem  emptied  of  meaning  since  the 
departure  of  Effie  from  all  these  earthly  places, 
where  friends  meet  and  flowers  grow.  With  my 
sorrow  in  reading  your  deeply  touching  letter,  came 
a  feeling  of  gladness  that  the  friendship  cherished 
by  so  many  for  your  loved  sister,  is  to  be 
expressed     in    a    little     volume.      There     are     flowers 


128  FLOWERS     FROM     MEMORY. 

enough  for  a  rich  bouquet.  Eflie  swaye<:l  a  sceptre 
of  fi'iendship,  and,  for  so  young  a  girl,  ruled  cpiite 
an  empire.  What  a  peaceful  and  beautiful  govern- 
ment it  was!  I  shall  await  with  impatience  this 
little  private  memoir,  for  I  shall  be  glad  to  find 
others  expressing  my  own  feelings  — singing  a  song, 
all  the  notes  of  which  are,  to  me,  so  sweet  and 
familiar.  Eflfie  first  came  adown  m}'  path  when  we 
were  both  enjoying  a  vacation,  and  were  spending 
a  few  weeks  where  the  external  world  was  rich  as 
the  tropics,  and  where  our  hours  were  idle  as  to 
the  toils  of  the  year,  and  were  bus}-  onlj-  in  the 
study  of  wood,  and  field,  and  sky,  and  the  beauti- 
ful in  humanity.  Her  lieart  was  abounding  in  youth 
and  its  romance,  and  poured  forth  a  poetry  of 
which  we  toil-worn  men  knew  little;  and  her  glad- 
ness and  youth  fell  upon  the  heavier  soul  like  a 
music  that  had  been  once  loved  but  forgotten.  At 
her   touch,  the   old    woods   all    blossomed. 

"  In  that,  my  onl}^  summer  near  her,  slie  was 
nearing  the  end  of  her  schooldays,  and  was  fearful 
lest,  once  away  from  lier  masters,  she  might  cast 
aside  all  study,  and  become  satisfied  with  having 
touched  her  lips  to  a  spring,  to  drink  deeply  of 
which    is   the   oidy    good,    and    which    deep    drinking 


FLOWERS     FROM     MEMORY.  129 

asks  for  a  lifetime.  I  attempted  to  teach  her 
that  she  must  join  together  the  words  '  stud}' '  and 
'  forever ; '  that  even  immortality  itself  were  a  con- 
tinuation of  a  high  industry,  I  advised  her  always 
to  be  in  love  with  some  poem,  or  essay,  or  volume, 
and  to  distrust  those  days  when  she  could  not  feel 
the  longings  of  such  a  passion.  We  must  be 
always    in   love    with   some   book   or   work. 

"  In  those  days,  she  committed  to  memory  some 
fugitive  poems  which  seemed  to  me  to  possess  the 
marks  of  greatness,  and  one  of  them,  '  Times  Go 
by  Turns,'  she  often  recited  to  me,  as  a  kind  of 
matin  or  vesper,  in  the  woods— the  first  temples  of 
God.  She  memorized  also,  a  part  of  Coleridge's 
'  Hymn    in    Chamouni.' 

"  And  have  all  that  youth  and  beauty  passed  away 
from  earth,  and  from  us  all?  Can  we  never  meet 
her  in  any  city,  or  in  any  summer  time?  Did  that 
girl  gasp  and  die,  and  must  those  who  loved  her, 
only   weep  ? 

"  A  thoughtful  and  delicately-strung  writer  said, 
years  ago,  that  immortality  is  not  to  -be  inferred 
from  the  nature  of  man  at  large,  but  from  the 
quality  of  those  highest  souls  that  pass  into  the 
tomb.      Oblivion,    annihilation,    might    be    a    possible 


130         FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY. 


fate  of  some ;  but  when  the  noble  ones  die,  those 
who  have  mental  and  moral  beauty,  then  the  sec- 
ond world  can  no  longer  conceal  itself;  the  immense 
worth  passing  from  these  shores,  seems  to  compel 
the  shores  of  Heaven  to  disclose  their  realit}^,  and 
to  fling  open  their  pearly  gates.  It  is  the  hurry- 
ing away  from  us  of  the  young,  of  our  little 
children,  of  our  gifted  sisters,  of  the  beautiful,  and 
the  great,  and  the  mighty,  that  makes  immortality 
such  a  powerful  necessity.  Over  a  fallen  sparrow 
or  a  faded  leaf,  we  may  say  'This  is  dust;'  but 
over  the  silent  Ettie,  we  must  look  up  to  God  and 
say,  '  This  is  life.'  The  beautiful,  the.  young,  the 
gifted,  the  loAcd,  are  called  away  to  help  frame  the 
argument  which  leads  mankind  to  God.  We  part 
with  Effie  to  let  her  be  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  to 
take  away  our  unbelief.  Through  such  sacred  offer- 
ings, our  hearts  are  lifted  up,  and  we  see  more 
clearly    the   eternal    hills. 

"  Be     patient,     and     resigned — many     friends     are 
around   you,   and    God    is    nearer    and  better  than  all 
we   mortals,  be   our   hearts   ever   so    tender. 
"  Ever   ^'our    friend, 

"  David   Swing. 
"Chicago,  June,  1819." 


FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY.  131 

Another,  from  the  standpoint  of  daily 
association,  writes : 

"  Some  of  those  good  angels  that  used  to  attend 
your  dear  Eilie  while  she  was  here  on  earth,  must 
have  put  it  into  your  heart  to  ask  a  few  of  her 
friends  to  write  you  briefly  some  of  their  impres- 
sions of  her  character,  that  you  might  have  them 
to  keep  for  yourself  and  for  her  dearest  friends, 
now  that  she  is  gone.  As  flowers  perfume  the 
night  when  day  is  over,  so  may  sweet  memories 
come   to   3'ou   from    the    dear   girl's   tomb. 

"  It  was  a  short  school  year  that  she  spent  at 
our  house  in  Mount  Pleasant.  I  imagine  she  was 
never  happier  anywhere  than  there— and  she  cer- 
tainly made  the  best  of  impressions  on  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  a  most  interesting:  class  of  oirls  in 
that  place — impressions  which,  I  believe,  will  con- 
tinue through  their  lives,  and  be  more  blessed  to 
them  in  consequence  of  their  teacher,  whom  they  so 
fondly  loved,  being  so  soon  taken  awa3^  I  was 
especially  impressed  with  this  fact — that  while  her 
influence  for  good  was  always  positive  and  marked 
in    school,    and    out    of    school,    and    everywhere,    she 


132  FLOWERS      FROM      MEMORY. 


seemed  unconscious  that  she  was  capable  of  winning 
hearts  to  herself,  and  moulding,  with  her  plastic 
touch,  the  minds  and  lives  of  those  who  were  prov- 
identially committed  to  her  care.  The  3^oung  people 
who  went  to  Miss  Effie's  school  in  Mount  Pleasant, 
will   never   let   her   memory   die   while   they   live. 

"  I  shall  always  think  pleasanth^  of  her  as  a 
welcome  guest  in  m}^  famil}'.  Some  have  enter- 
tained angels  unawares.  Doubtless,  so  did  we 
while  Effie  dwelt  with  us.  Those  beautiful  and 
always  suggestive  bouquets,  which  she  made  with 
rare  taste  for  my  pulpit,  every  Saturday  evening, 
were  helpful  to  me  and  my  people  every  Lord's 
day — always  varying,  as  they  did,  with  the  seasons 
and  occasions  that  prompted  her  to  arrange  them. 
The  prophesy  of  the  last  one  she  made,  and  put  so 
appropriately  in  its  place,  was  probably  not  fully 
understood  by  any  of  us  at  the  time,  maj^be  not 
by  herself,  when  she  gathered,  in  the  harvest-field, 
the  stocks  of  ripening  wheat  and  bound  them  ar- 
tistically into  a  sheaf  to  preach,  as  it  did,  like  a 
sermon,  with  forcible  eloquence,  from  the  pulpit,  on 
that  last  Sabbath  she  worshiped  with  us  in  our 
sanctuary.  Sooner  than  any  of  her  friends  upon 
earth   could   have   wished,  Effie  herself  was   gathered, 


FLOWERS      FROM      MEMORY.  133 

like  ripe  wlieat,  and  borne  away  by  angel  reapers 
for  safe  keei)ing  in  the  Heavenl}^  g-rannry  of  Jesus' 
preparing. 

"  If  it  be  true  that  no  one  ever  errs  who  sac- 
rifices self  for  the  good  of  others,  she  did  not  err 
therein.      Her   young,   lovely    life,   as    I    saw    it,    was 

one    of    self-sacrifice.      Her   work    on    earth    is   done 

and  well  done.  She  died  early — but  not  prematurely. 
I  do  not  praise  her,  but  T  would  praise  the  Grace 
of    God   in    her. 

"  Very    truly,    and    with    truest    sympathy, 
"  Yours, 

"John   McMillan. 
"1623    Chestnut    .Street,    Philadelphia, 
''June   18th,    1879:' 

Yet  another — a  friend  from  childhood,  and 
in  whose  home  were  spent  the  hours  of 
her  serious  ilhiess  before  her  flio-ht  to  the 
South — writes : 

"  M3'  first  acquaintance  with  Etfie  was  during 
her  chihlhood,  while  I  served  a  short  i)astorate  in 
the  church  wheie  slic  was  reared.  We  meet  some- 
times   with     natures     Avhich     seem     almost     to     have 


134        FLOWERS   FROM   MEMORY. 

escaped  the  universal  blight  of  sin  ;  free,  apparently, 
from  that  innate  depravity  which,  until  touched  by 
the  Divine  Eestorer,  develops  the  fruit  of  unright- 
eousness— natures  such  as  that  which  our  Lord 
once  looked  upon  lovingly  and  said — '  Thou  art  not 
far  from  the  Kingdom  of  God.'  Such  was  Effie 
in  the  sweetness  and  bloom  of  her  girlhood.  From 
the  very  beginning,  she  bore  the  likeness  of  one  of 
Heaven's  nobility.  Her  goodness  was  not  merelj^ 
negative,  such  as  those  who  are  completely  described 
by  saying — '  The}^  are  not  bad  ' — who  are  too  weak 
to  be  wicked.  Her  heart  throbbed  with  strong 
impulses ;  her  mind  possessed  great  breadth  and 
strength  of  grasp ;  and  her  pronounced  personality 
gave  promise  of  being  one  of  the  large  factors  in 
the   forces   of    life. 

"It  is  one  of  the  bright  days  in  my  memories 
of  pastoral  work,  when  I  first  spoke  to  Effie  of 
Jesus,  and  asked  her  to  take  her  place  among  his 
followers.  No  frivolous  indifference  to  the  claims  of 
her  Redeemer,  and  no  stubborii^  unwillingness  to 
take  uj)  her  cross  and  follow  Him.  was  exhibited, 
but  a  quick  and  tender  responsiveness,  a  clear  per- 
ception of  duty,  and  a  jo3'ous  willingness  to  yield 
implicitly   to   its   call.     On    the    14th  day   of  January, 


FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY.         135 


18*71,  this  leal  and  loving  soul  first  joined  with  the 
people  of  God  in  bearing  witness  for  Christ,  and 
allying  herself  to  His  cause,  which  she  ever  aided 
and  adorned  until  the  day  of  lier  release,  when 
the  Master  came  and  spoke  tenderly  to  her  drooping 
spirit,  weary  of  weakness  and  pain,  '  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant,  enter  thou  into  the  joy 
of  th}^   Lord.' 

"  When  next  I  knew  EfRe,  it  was  in  full  woman- 
hood. In  the  interval,  advancing  years  and  educa- 
tion had  wrought  out  wondrously  the  prophesies  of 
her  childhood.  Mind  and  heart  had  grown  with 
€qual  force.  Her  broad  comprehension  of  the  sober 
realities  of  life,  her  thorough  understanding  of 
what  the  3^oung  are  so  prone  to  overlook — that  the 
harvest  always  follows  the  sowing — her  resolve  to 
discard  all  pett^'  ends,  and  grapple  only  with  pur- 
poses reaching  to  things  useful  and  great,  and  her 
mind  scorning  frivolities  and  delighting  itself  onlj^ 
in  the  great  themes  of  science  and  philosophy,  and 
in  the  solutions  of  the  great  problems  of  the 
world's   life — all    revealed    a   noble    and    queenly    soul. 

"  In  her  religious  life,  Effie  walked  with  anointed 
eyes  through  the  world,  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible, 
and    looking    upon    the    things    unseen    and    eternal. 


136         FLOWERS  FROM   MEMORY. 

Her  fellowship  was  with  the  Father  and  with  His 
Son,  Jesus  Christ.  She  bowed  reverently  to  the 
will  of  her  Master,  and  trusted  lovingly  in  His 
care.  Such  was  her  development  of  mind  and  heart 
that  the  middle-aged,  and  the  old,  and  those  of 
large  mental  and  spiritual  attainments,  delighted  in 
her  companionship,  because  she  was  able  to  follow 
them  along  any  intricate  path  of  thought  or  into 
any  mystery  of  personal  experience,  whither  they 
might  choose  to  lead  her.  Xo  side  of  her  nature 
was  dwarfed  or  deformed.  Alike  in  taste,  in  moral 
principle,  in  mental  power,  and  in  spirituality,  she 
was  rapidl}^  developed  into  the  character  of  a  true 
woman. 

"  When  disease  came,  contracted  while  at  the 
post  of  duty,  she  bore  it  with  a  patience  and 
courage  worthy  of  such  a  character.  Painful  days 
and  wearisome  nights  were  appointed  unto  her;  but 
she  passed  through  all  with  bright  cheerfulness, 
which  made  her,  in  her  days  of  sickness,  even  more 
lovable  than  before.  Medical  skill  and  tender  care 
were  alike  unable  to  avert  the  destroyer's  march ; 
inch  by  inch,  the  foundations  of  life  were  under- 
mined, but  as  the  body  languished,  the  soul  m()unte<l 
up   on   the   path   of  the  just,  shining   more  and  more 


FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY.         137 


uiito  the  perfect  day.  A  short,  but  noble  and 
beautiful,  life  has  ended,  and  with  sad  heart  we 
offer   this   tribute   to   her   memory. 

"W.  H.  McMillan. 
"Allegheny,    July,   1879.'^ 

A  lady  of  Boston,  herself  an  exile  for 
the  sake  of  health,  occupied,  in  the  San 
Antonio  boarding-house,  a  little  room  whose 
walls  were  covered  from  floor  to  ceiling 
with  bright  pictures  of  her  own  creation. 
Thus  she  writes  of  the  days  in  which  she 
found  a  higher  interpretation  of  life,  to  her 
so    unexpected,  in    a    land    of    strangers: 

"  Dear  Friend  ;  Yesterday,  a  pictured  face  was 
laid  in  my  hand,  and,  as  it  chanced,  I  sat  in  the 
little  square  room  where,  so  often,  in  the  earlier 
days  of  her  illness,  your  sister  came  to  nie,  in  the 
late  afternoon  hours,  for  rest  and  change.  That  it 
was  her  face,  I  at  once  saw,  but  younger  than  I 
had  known  it,  less  grown,  less  spii-itual — a  hand- 
some, strong  face,  bearing  promise  of  a  noble 
womanhood.  This  was  conveyed  in  the  portrait, 
but   in    herself,   even    in   the   first   da^'s    of    our   meet- 

10 


138         FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY, 


ing,  was  the  awakening  life  which  the  pictured 
semblance  held  but  faintly,  and  rather  as  an  innate 
promise   than   an    immanent   presence. 

"  How  clearl}^  I  recall  those  early  days  under 
the  arch  of  the  wonderful  southern  sky,  days  lumi- 
nous with  light,  interpenetrated  with  sun,  wherein 
Nature  seemed  to  promise  fair  amends  for  her 
northern  rigor.  We  all  associated  '  the  sick  lad^^,' 
as  the  children  lovingh'  called  her,  with  sun,  air, 
and  all  sweetness  and  beaut}' ;  for  to  these  she 
belonged  as  they  to  her — and  to  all  these  was  her 
door  ever  swung  wide.  Her  room  held  the  treasure 
trove  of  our  household  of  sojourners.  What  did  we 
not  bring  her?  Along  with  the  waifs  of  waj^side 
and  prairie,  the  joys  and  griefs  of  the  house  grav- 
itated  to   her   heart-whole   s^anpathy. 

"  Reviewing  certain  quiet  hours  spent  together,  I 
am  strongly  impelled  to  send  you  the  shadow  of 
their  fullness.  1  say  the  shadow,  for  I  find  the 
vital  essence  so  real  to  me,  tliat  words  can  hardly 
be  other  than  shadowy  over  against  its  clear  com- 
pleteness. But  to  3'Ou  I  leave  the  interpretation  of 
spirit  beyond  the  letter.  Claiming  a  personal 
acquaintance  of  short  weeks  onl}',  yet  am  I  so 
assured    of    having    met    a     Reality    of  Soul,   that    I 


FLOWERS   FROM   MEMORY.         139 

speak  with  less  hesitancy'  than  otherwise  must  be, 
and  in  my  revei'ent  recognition  of  that  Reality, 
you  must  find  justification  of  these  words,  not  in 
memory  of  what  your  sister  was,  more  than  in 
witness  of  what  she  is.  The  centres  of  her  life 
lay  beyond  mutations  of  earth,  and  significant  of  that 
was  the  keynote  of  all  her  longer  talks  with  me. 
A  yearning  desire  to  do  right,  and  to  become  right 
in  thought,  feeling,  and  life,  a  restless  impatience 
with  the  self  that  slie  felt  so  slow  to  become  un- 
selfed — these  were  her  strongest  aspirations,  and  to 
this  becoming  and  being  she  steadfastly  set  herself. 
"  One  day,  driving  in  the  open  country  beyond 
the  city  limits,  she  said,  after  a  long  silence,  '  It  just 
comes  to  me  that  this  is  God's  country  I'  and  in 
reply  to  a  look  of  inquiry  from  me,  '  You  don't 
know  how  I  hated  to  come  here.  Nobody  knew. 
I  have  rebelled  against  everything,  but  to-day  I 
have  a  new  sight  of  things ;  these  free,  open  spaces 
bring  me  rest  and  peace ;'  and  she  added,  with  a 
naive  nod  of  child-like  earnestness,  '  I  will  try  and 
get  well  here,  and  not  trouble  sister  b}^  making 
her  feel  that  I  am  disappointed  in  things.'  Hand 
in  hand,  were  always  found  the  two  motives — for 
right's  sake,  for  love's  sake.  With  pathetic  intona- 
tion,   she    said,    one    day,   as    we    were    speaking    of 


140  FLOWERS     FROM    MEMORY. 


the  inevitable  trials  and  hardnesses  in  life,  'If  I 
felt  God's  love  as  I  feel  my  sister's,  if  I  were  as 
sure,   I   could   bear   things!' 

"As  days  and  weeks  went  on,  the  sureness  grew 
and  deepened,  and  the  bearing  of  things  under  the 
terrible  stress  of  bodily  weakness,  was  her  patient 
endeavor.  Along  with  her  brightest  longings,  a 
part  of  her  truest  life  was  the  trustful  clinging 
love  for  that  elder  sister,  who  was  to  her,  shelter 
and  refuge,  counselor  and  comforter.  This  love, 
and  her  restful  faith  in  it,  was  her  stronghold  on 
the  oiitei-  of  life,  and  was  to  her  the  sweet  in- 
terpreter through  which  that  other  love  of  the 
Spirit   revealed   itself 

"Watching  me  at  my  work,  as  she  sat  in  my 
room  one  of  the  '  tired  afternoons,'  she  said,  with 
tearful  eyes,  '  It  is  so  hard,  so  hard,  to  do 
nothing !  If  the  Lord  only  lets  me  get  well,  I 
shall  work  for  Him  so !  Why,  I  thought  I  tried, 
before  I  was  sick ;  but  now  I  know  more  what  it 
means,  and  if  He  only  lets  me  get  well,  I  shall 
work,  0  !  so  hard — so  much  better.'  Dear  child  ! 
She  had  hard  work  then  on  her  hands :  the  burden 
of  lajnng  down  the  apparent  goods  of  life,  and 
taking  up  the  real.  And  was  this  nothing  to 
do  ?      I   remember   our   talk  led   up   to  this   question, 


FLOWERS      FROM      MEMORY.  1-il 

and  the  fact  of  there  being  so  uianj^  kinds  of 
work,  and  so  many  ways  of  working,  even  though 
one  lies  enthrall  to  bodily-  weakness.  It  is  not 
easy  to  get  at  the  significance  of  Life  all  at  once. 
This  is  one  of  those  pearls  bought  with  a  price. 
Doing  is  so  involved  with  Being  in  our  minds,  and 
so  closel}^  allied  to  it,  in  truth,  that  when  the  door 
suddenly  shuts  on  the  one,  and  we  are  thrust  un- 
prepared on  the  stern  solution  of  pure  Being  alone, 
we  stand  chilled  and  isolated  in  hopeless  bewilder- 
ment, till  at  last  the  apartness  resolves  itself  into 
undreamed  of  nearness.  I  well  recall  iier  thought- 
ful face  as  we  spoke  of  these  things,  and  of  the 
inner  meaning  which  Life  must  hold,  soon  or  late, 
for  every  soul  coming  to  its  own  consciousness — 
coming  to  itself;  and  of  the  rightness  of  the  way, 
whereby  this  meaning  should  be  revealed  to  us — 
even  though  it  lay  through  the  vallej-  of  the 
shadow  of  death.  The  shadow — verily — and  no 
more. 

"  Your  sister  did  not  speak  to  me  directly  of 
her  own  going,  but  I  am  confident  that  was  in 
her  mind,  when,  again  and  again,  she  turned  to 
these  subjects  of  deeper  import.  One  of  her  last 
good  nights  to  me,  she  prefaced  by  whispering, 
^  Things   look    difterently    from    what   the}'    used,   and 


142         FLOWERS  FROM  MEMORY. 


T    try   to   be   patient,  and    wait,  and    feel    it   must   all 
be    right.' 

"Earth's  pain  and  weariness  grew  apace;  our 
talks  became  more  and  more  infrequent:  the  time 
for  words  went  by :  a  smile — a  handclasp — and  all 
was  said,  as  ever  clear  and  more  clear  was  the 
breaking  dawn  of  her  coming  birthday.  And  there, 
at  the  gate  of  the  New  Life,  we  leave  her— more 
alive,  more  herself,  than  we  are  yet  ready  to  ap- 
prehend, through  the  vailed  vision    of    our  mortality: 

" '  And,    O   beloved   voices,    upon   which 
Ours  passionately   call,   because  ere   long 
Ye   break  off  in   the   middle   of  that  song 
We   sang  together  softly,    to  enrich 
The   poor  world   with  the   sense   of  love,  and   witch 
The   heart   out   of  things   evil,— I   am   strong, 
Knowing  ye   are   not  lost  for  aye  among 
The  hills  with  last  year's  thrush.     God  keeps  a  niche 
In  Heaven  to  hold  our   idols :  and  albeit 
He  break  them  to  our  faces,  and   denied 
That  our  close   kisses   should   impair  their  white, 
I  know  we   shall  behold  them   raised,  complete, 
The   dust  swept   from  their  beauty — glorified — 
New  Memnons  singing  in  the  great  God-light.' 

"  San   Antonio,   Texas,   August  4th,   1879." 


^imt  (Boe0  6g  Z^utm. 


The  following  poem,  quaint  and  old,  was  a 
chosen  favorite  with  her,  the  little  storj^  of  whose 
life  threads  the  preceding  pages.  To  her,  this 
poem  was  wreathed  about  with  happy  associations. 
Often  she  quoted  from  it ;  often  she  co|)ied  it 
among  selections  for  her  friends.  Breathing  a 
spirit  of  quiet,  subtle  philosophy,  it  expressed,  like 
an  inspiration,  the  leadings  of  a  mind  ideal  and 
poetic  in  its  tendencies,  j^et  to  whose  earnest  nature 
the  ideal  served  onl}?^  as  a  model  by  which  to 
frame  the  real  life.  This  poem  is  eminently  one 
of  the  life  which  is ;  such  was  it  to  her  when  life 
seemed  long,  and  eternitj^  the  distant  ocean,  whose 
low,   faint  murmur   scarcely   reached   her   ears. 

TIME  GOES   BY  TURNS. 

This  rare  old  poem  was  written  by  Robert  Southwell, 
who  was  born  at  Horscliam,  St.  Faith's,  Norfolk,  England, 
A.  D.  1560.  He  was  thrown  into  the  Tower,  July,  1592, 
on  an  accusation  of  complicity  in  a  plot  against  Queen 
Elizabeth  ;  was  ten  times  subjected  to  torture,  but  made 
no  confession  beyond  that  of  being  a  Jesuit,  and  having 
exercised  his  priest's  office ;  was  condemned  to  death  for 
constructive  treason,  in  refusing  to  take  the  oath  of  su- 
premacy, February  20th,  1595,  and  on  the  following  day, 
was  hanged,  drawn  and  quartered  at  Tyburn,  meeting  his 
fate   with  firmness  and   composure. 


146  TIME     GOES     BY     TURNS. 


The   lopped   tree   in   time   nia^'    grow   again. 

Most   naked   plants   renew   both   fruit   and   flower. 
The   sorriest   wight   may   find    release   from    pain ; 

The  driest  soil  sucks  in  some  moistening  shower; 
Times  go  by  turns,  and  chances  change  by  course, 
From    foul   to    fair,  from   better   hap   to   worse. 

The   sea   of  Fortune   doth    not   overflow ; 

She   draws   her   favors   to   the   lowest   ebb ; 
Her   tides   have   equal    times   to   come   and    go ; 

Her   loom   doth    weave    the   fine   and    coarsest   web. 
No  joy   so   great    but    runneth    to   an   end. 
No   hap   so   hard    but   may    in    time    amend. 

Not   always   full   of    leaf,   nor   ever   spring; 

Not   endless   night,   nor   yet   eternal   day. 
The   saddest  bird   a  season   finds   to   sing ; 

The   roughest   storm   a  calm   may    soon    alia}' ; 
Thus,   with   succeeding   turns,   God   tempereth   all, 
That   man  may   hope   to   rise    but   fear   to  fall. 

A   chance   may   win   what   b}^   mischance   was   lost ; 

The   net   that   holds   no   great,   takes   little   fish ; 
In   some   things,  all ;    in  all  things,   none  are  crossed. 

Few    all   they   need,   but   none    have   all   they   wish. 
Unmingled  joys,   here,    to   no   man    befall : 
Who   least,   hath   some,   who    most,   hath    never   all. 


^omdimtB^ 


SOMETIMES. 

In  striking  contrast  to  the  foregoing  is  the  following 
poem,  many  times  read  and  repeated  by  Effie,  the  weary- 
waiting  invalid.  Viewed  from  the  other  side  of  the  plain, 
life  was  as  the  fading  fancies  of  a  dream,  or  as  a  tale 
that  had  been  told,  and  needed  no  philosophy.  Another 
life  lay  just  beyond,  and  of  that  life  must  be  the  song. 
Among  her  sacred  papers,  in  the  afterward,  was  foiuid  a 
faintly  penciled  copy  of  these  lines,  doubtless  placed  there 
as  a  parting  message   to  those   she  loved. 

Some  time,  when    all  life's  lessons  have  been   learned, 

And   sun    and   stars   forever  more   have   set. 
The    things    which    our    weak    judgments    here    have 
spurned  ; 

The  things  o'er  which  we  grieved  with  lashes  wet. 
Will    flash    before   us   out   of  life's   dark   night. 

As   stars   shine   most  in   deepest   tints   of    blue. 
And   we   shall   see   how   all    God's   plans  were   right, 

And  how  what  seemed  reproof  was  love  most  true. 


150  SOMETIMES. 


And    we   shall   see   how,  while    we    frown    and   sigh, 

God's   plans   go   on    as   best   for   you   and   me. 
How,  when    we   called,  He    heeded    not   our   cry. 

Because   His   wisdom    to   the    end   could   see ; 
And   e'en   as   prudent   parents   disallow 

To   much   of  sweet   to   craving   babyhood. 
So    God,  perhaps,  is   keeping   from    us   now. 

Life's   sweetest   things,  because   it   seemeth   good. 

And   if,  sometimes,  commingled    with   life's   wine. 

We   find   the   wormwood,   and    rebel    and    shrink. 
Be   sure   a   wiser   hand   than   yours   or   mine 

Pours   out   this   potion   for  our   lips   to   drink. 
And   if  some   friend   we   love   is   lying   low. 

Where   human   kisses   cannot   reach   his   face. 
Oh,  do   not   blame   the   loving   Father   so, 

But    wear   your   sorrows   with    obedient   grace. 

And  you  shall  shortly  know,  that  lengthened  breath 
Is  not  the  sweetest  gift  God  sends  His  friends. 

And  sometimes  the  sable  pall  of  death 

Conceals  the  fairest  boon  His  love  can  send. 

If  we  could  push  aside  the  gates  of  life. 

And  stand  within,  and  all  God's  workings  see, 


SOMETIMES.  151 

We  could  interpret  all  this  doubt  and  strife, 
And  for  each  raj'ster^-  could  find  a  key. 

But  not  to-da}-.      Tlien  be  content,  i)oor  heart, 

Grod's  plans,  like  lilies  pure  and  white,,  unfold  ; 
We  must  not  tear  the  close  shut  leaves  apart ; 

Time  will  reveal  the  calyxes  of  gold. 
And  if,  through  patient  toil,  we  reach  tlie  land 

Where  tired  feet,  with  sandals  loosed,  may  rest ; 
When  we  shall  clearl}-  know  and  understand, 

I  think  that  we  will  say,  "  God  knew  the  best." 


"  I     have     loved     thee     with     an     everlasting    love, 
therefore  with  loving  kindness  have  I  drawn  thee." 


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